


To Find Our Long Forgotten Gold

by Wealhtheow21



Series: A Common Tongue [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Slavery, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Cultural Differences, Durin Family Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Kíli, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Language Barrier, Protective Bilbo, Protective Fíli, Slow Build, Speech and Language, Thorin's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 229,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wealhtheow21/pseuds/Wealhtheow21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of movieverse. It is many years since tragedy struck the line of Durin when the youngest heir was lost to a pack of orcs. Now Bilbo Baggins, having agreed only to stealing treasure from a dragon, finds himself instead tangled up in a web of tragedy and revenge. Perhaps it's foolhardy of him to get involved at all, but really, someone has to try and keep these dwarves out of trouble. As for the rest, well, what is lost does not always stay lost forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Past Imperfective

Bilbo Baggins would like to say that he thought long and hard about whether to join the company of dwarves that barged into his life one night with a promise of adventure and entirely possible incineration. He would like to be able to say that he weighed the pros and cons, perhaps made a list, maybe even consulted the wiser folk of the Shire (not that there were very many of those). But in fact, what he did was read too many books and spend too much time exploring hollows in the safe, green woods of the Shire, and get it into his head that that was all that adventure was. What he did was decide, in a moment of madness, that he would like to be like the folk in those books, to meet the elves and explore the hollows of greener woods beyond the borders of the only place he'd ever known. At the time, it seemed like the obvious choice.

What he did not do was consider that elves were not the only strange race out there to be discovered. What he _certainly_ did not do was consider that there was just the outside possibility that he might encounter orcs.

“What?” he said to Balin. Surely he must have misheard. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Aye, laddie,” the old dwarf said, peering at the misshapen footprint in the mud. “The filthy beasts came through this way, all right.” He turned back to the rest of the company, catching up now to where the two of them stood in the midst of what Bilbo had previously thought was a rather innocent-looking sunlit glade. “Thorin,” he said. “Orcs. They must have passed through just before dawn.”

Bilbo wasn't sure what he had expected Thorin's reaction to be, nor the rest of the company, for that matter. He knew only a few vague, half-heard stories about orcs, and they had always made him shudder and turn back to his fire and his books of elves. Surely, then, they would turn aside from the path, do everything they could to avoid encountering these dreadful beasts?

But the company merely shifted slightly in their saddles, glancing at each other and then at Thorin. As for Thorin himself, he sat up a little straighter, if that was at all possible, and lifted his chin. Perhaps it was just his general kingliness, but Bilbo could have sworn he saw something else in the set of his chin. Something hard and angry and -- eager? Dismounting, he knelt in the dirt and traced the edge of the footprint with a finger, then stood and nodded at Balin.

“Then we must hurry if we are to catch them while they still sleep,” he said. 

There was a general murmur of assent, and Bilbo saw that Fili had also dismounted, sword half drawn like he thought the orcs would come crashing in at any moment -- and for all Bilbo knew, they would. Fili, too, looked almost excited by the news. It was something Bilbo had already rather suspected, but this was definite confirmation. Dwarves were quite, quite mad.

“Catch them?” Bilbo said as Thorin turned back towards his pony. “I'm sorry, did you say _catch_ them?” 

Thorin glanced down at him. “That is what I said, Master Baggins,” he said. “And if you are to be of help to us, you will go ahead and find their camp. Fine work for a burglar.” 

“Find their camp?” Bilbo asked, his voice becoming rather high-pitched.

“Bofur, you will go with Bilbo,” Thorin said. “You know the tracks of orcs.”

“I don't think--” Bilbo started, but he was interrupted by Fili, who took two steps forward.

“I'll go,” he said. “I know them better than anyone.”

Thorin considered him for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “Bofur.”

“Er, excuse me,” Bilbo tried waving a hand in the air to see if that would catch anyone's attention. It did not. 

“Uncle--” Fili started, but Thorin raised a hand.

“We will not have this conversation again,” he said.

“Would everyone please just _listen_!” Bilbo shouted, louder than he had really intended to. He was rewarded by the sight of twelve pairs of eyes staring at him. Gandalf, he noted, had slipped off somewhere, just when Bilbo needed him to talk some sense into these confounded dwarves. He cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “We're listening, Master Baggins,” he said. 

“Well, I just,” Bilbo glanced around at them all, hoping someone else would see what a terrible idea this was. But there was nothing to suggest that any of them thought it strange in the slightest. “Would someone explain to me _why_ we want to catch up with the orcs?” he said finally.

The corner of Thorin's mouth twitched downward, but it was Fili who answered.

“So that we can kill them,” he said. “So that we can wipe their stinking filth from the face of the earth.”

Bilbo swallowed around a lump in his throat. In truth, he had not known any of the company for many days, Gandalf excepted, but he had never heard Fili speak in such a tone before. It sent shivers down his spine.

“Ah,” he said. 

\----

In fact, Bilbo decided as he did his best to slip through the forest without attracting the attention of any orcs that might be out for a stroll, it was all probably Gandalf's fault. Gandalf had brought the dwarves to his door, after all, and Gandalf had told them all that he was a burglar. Gandalf had suggested that all this would be an adventure. Perhaps it was an adventure, but if so, Bilbo was rapidly coming to the conclusion that adventures were not at all like he'd imagined them. And now, of course, Gandalf had wandered off somewhere, and left Bilbo to track murderous beasts through the forest. He could, of course, have refused. But then he would have faced the wrath of Thorin, and quite possibly been left alone to fend for himself in an apparently orc-infested wood. No, his only option was to be as quiet as he possibly could.

“Found another one,” said Bofur, stumping over to him from the path, breaking every twig on the forest floor as he passed. Bilbo winced and raised a finger to his lips. Bofur shrugged and pointed back to where Bilbo could see what was probably a footprint in the churned mud. Bofur held his hands up, perhaps eighteen inches apart. Bilbo swallowed hard. Orcs were big, then. Bigger than dwarves, much bigger than hobbits.

Mad, they were all mad.

Bofur jerked his head, and Bilbo crept forward, his feet soundless on the leaf litter, until he was near the top of the little rise that blocked their view. He dropped quietly to his knees and crawled, six inches, twelve -- and then he could see over the top. See something white through the fronds of bracken.

Bilbo frowned and screwed up his eyes, trying to make sense of the tangle of bracken and bark and whatever the white thing was. It was smooth and curved, like marble, bluish -- maybe part of a broken statue? Bilbo had read that the elves had built many statues in the woods of Middle Earth, before they left to travel westward over the sea.

The white thing twitched and let out a whistling snort, and Bilbo fell back, heart hammering in his throat. Not a statue. Definitely not. Statues didn't snore. And even if they did, their breath definitely wouldn't stink of rotting meat.

There was a crackling sound down below, and Bilbo turned sharply to see Bofur frowning up at him, opening his mouth to ask a question. Bilbo flapped his hands frantically, mouthing _no, you idiot_ , and then glanced fearfully behind him. In his haste to move back from the snoring, stinking thing in the bracken, he'd risen to his full height, and now he could see what lay beyond. It was a flattened, cleared area, half-hidden under a rocky overhang, and it was full of sleeping figures, bluish-white, long-armed and spidery.

Bilbo had definitely found the orcs.

\----

“They're, um,” Bilbo flapped his hand at Thorin and tried to catch his breath. He wasn't sure he had ever run so fast in his life, not even when he'd been caught stealing mushrooms as a child. It certainly didn't help that his heart was still trying to fight its way out of his chest. Orcs. Orcs! And he'd been no more than a few inches from them! He wondered what his respectable neighbours in the Shire would think if they could see him now.

“Spit it out, lad,” said Dwalin. “Where are they?”

Bilbo forced himself to gulp in a deep breath. “Over there,” he wheezed. “Over _there_.” He flapped his hand a little more.

Thorin sighed heavily. “How far?” he asked. “How many?”

“Hundreds,” Bilbo choked. “Orcs!”

“I'd say about thirteen,” Bofur's voice came from behind him, and Bilbo turned. Unlike Bilbo, he had not run from the orcs, and Bilbo had half-assumed that he'd already been caught and most likely eaten. “They're about half a league ahead. Still sleeping.” 

“Thirteen,” Thorin said, and Dwalin sat back in his saddle with a grunt.

“Short work for twelve dwarves, if we can catch them before they wake up,” he said. “We'll need to be quiet, though.”

Thorin considered for a moment, then glanced back at Fili. Bilbo heaved in another breath, staring at them in astonishment. It had been one thing, them determining to go after the orcs before Bilbo had seen what they looked like, but now that he had the scent of them in his nostrils, the sight of those spidery, bestial arms turning his stomach, it was unimaginable.

“Then we shall be quiet,” Thorin said, and dismounted from his pony, drawing his sword.

Unimaginable, perhaps. But of all the many unimaginable things that were to happen to Bilbo on this journey, it was only the first.

\----

It wasn't until all the dwarves had filed past Bilbo and gone on their surprisingly stealthy way towards the orcs that Bilbo realised Gandalf had returned. He was bringing up the rear of the company, and he did not move to follow them. Perhaps wizards had more sense than that, although it was Gandalf that had talked Bilbo into this quest, so perhaps not.

“Where have you been?” Bilbo hissed at him. “They're going to get themselves killed!”

Gandalf shook his head. “My dear Bilbo,” he said. “There are many things you do not yet understand. But let me settle your mind: I do not believe them to be in any serious danger.” 

“But--” Bilbo looked back at the dwarves now disappearing into the woods behind him, “there are _orcs_ , Gandalf.”

“It will not be the first time that Thorin Oakenshield and his people have gone against such creatures,” Gandalf said, and now he, too, was staring off at where Thorin had disappeared, his face set in lines of sadness. “Nor will it be the last, I fear, until Durin's children walk no more upon this earth.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment, but then his face changed, and he smiled down at Bilbo. “If I were you, I would wait here. I think they will not be long.”

Yes, Bilbo decided. There were still many things that he didn't understand, and many things that made him wish he had never listened to the wizard's harebrained scheme in the first place. He contemplated how easy it would be now to take his pony and go back to the Shire. They were only a few days from the borders, after all, and there were no serious obstacles between him and his warm hearth. No serious obstacles except the orc-infested woods, anyway.

Away off in the direction of the orcs there came a sharp cry, rough and jagged and like nothing Bilbo had ever heard before. It seemed to slip under his skin, scraping up his spine and under his scalp. He turned on his heel, wishing he had a weapon of some kind. Not that he would know how to wield it, but he might at least make himself look more fierce. 

Then another cry, this one deeper and full-bodied. Dwalin, Bilbo thought. He glanced back at Gandalf.

“I believe there are no more orcs to be feared,” the wizard said. “At least for this day.” He laid a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. “Come,” he said. “They will need the ponies.”

\----

Bilbo had not entirely trusted the wizard's certainty that the orcs were all dead, but when they reached the rocky overhang, it was clear that he had been correct. The bluish-white bodies lay sprawled almost as Bilbo had last seen them, but there were no more snores now, and the smooth, ugly skin was splashed with something black that Bilbo realised must be orcish blood. He shuddered to think that the foulness of these creatures went as deep as the blood that flowed in their veins. 

Thorin was stalking from orc to orc, lifting the head of each one and peering into their face. Across the clearing, under the overhang, Bilbo could make out Fili doing the same thing. A grim business, he thought, but perhaps it was some kind of dwarvish ritual. In the centre of the clearing, the rest of the company were engaged in stacking a great pile of wood. Bofur, passing by with a branch, paused at Bilbo's side.

“They're much easier to kill when they're unconscious, you know,” he said, then glanced at Gandalf. “Good to see you again,” he said. “We'll be needing your help with this wood, it's soaking wet.”

“What are they doing?” Bilbo asked, but Gandalf merely sighed. 

“Searching,” he said, and would say no more.

Thorin dropped the head of the orc he was examining, and it hit the earth with a dull thud, rolling on its neck to stare sightlessly at Bilbo. He stared back in horrified fascination. The orc's features were twisted, misshapen, as if whoever shaped it had been trying to make a man or an elf but had not the skill. Thorin straightened up and looked over to his nephew.

“Fili,” he said. He didn't raise his voice, but it carried nonetheless, and Fili looked up from the body he was inspecting and shook his head. Thorin nodded once, and then turned to Dwalin.

“Burn them,” he said.

\----

Night was falling by the time the bonfire got going, the wet wood taking a while to catch even with Gandalf's help. The stench of the burning orcs coiled greasily in Bilbo's stomach, and he was glad when Balin suggested they move on, build a smaller fire somewhere a mile or two down the road in the hope of drawing less attention to themselves. Indeed, it took them all of that mile and more to escape the smell, and it was full dark by the time Bilbo found himself sitting beside a much more cheerful-looking fire contemplating a bowl of rabbit stew. Normally he would have been very happy to swallow it, especially after such an exhausting day, but the sight of the twisted bodies of the orcs still lingered in his mind, and he found that for only the second time in his life, he had lost his appetite.

“Not eating, Mr. Baggins?” Bofur asked, sitting down next to him with his own bowl of stew. “Is the world drawing to an end and I just haven't noticed yet?”

Bilbo gave a weak smile. “I'm not used to all this excitement,” he offered as an excuse.

“Aye, well.” Bofur slurped on a spoonful of stew. “You'd best get used to it. A party of sleeping orcs is the least exciting thing we'll be encountering in the next few months, if I'm any judge.” He shrugged. “At least most of us have some experience in killing those.”

Bilbo frowned. “Are there many orcs in the Blue Mountains?” he asked. He knew little of the homes of dwarves and orcs, knew little of orcs at all, although a great deal more now than he had when he'd woken this morning.

“Not many,” Bofur said. “Not any more. There used to be quite a few, but.” He stopped, contemplating his stew. “Thorin decided to get rid of them,” he said, finally. “Made it a duty of all of us to kill them wherever we found them. Good thing, too,” he added. “Cause no end of problems, the nasty buggers.”

Bilbo looked over to where Thorin was sitting, alone as always, just beyond the circle of firelight. He seemed lost in thought, staring back towards the smudge of light on the horizon that represented the orcish funeral pyre.

“What's he searching for?” he asked, without really thinking about it. When Bofur didn't answer, Bilbo looked back at him to see him frowning into his stew.

“Ah, well,” Bofur said. “You'd have to ask him that, now, wouldn't you?” He stood up abruptly and grabbed another bowl, spooning more stew into it. “If you're not going to eat, would you mind taking that down to your man with the ponies?”

\----

Fili was sitting on a fallen log when Bilbo found him, the ponies ranged in a circle around him. They'd been skittish all day, ever since Balin had found the first orc footprint. Now they shifted quietly in the dark at Bilbo's approach, and he patted Myrtle gently on the flank as he passed.

“Brought you some food,” he said to Fili, holding out the bowl.

“I'm not hungry,” Fili said. 

Bilbo sighed and sat down next to him on the log. “It must be catching,” he said, although to tell the truth, now he was away from the crackling fire, he was starting to feel like maybe he could eat, after all. 

They sat quietly for a while, Fili watching the ponies and Bilbo thinking about whether he really was hungry and then testing it out by trying just a little of Fili's stew. Yes, definitely hungry. Surely Fili wouldn't mind if he had a little more. Unfortunately, it was rather dark, and Bilbo only realised how much he'd eaten when his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl.

“Er,” he said. “I do apologise, I appear to have eaten your dinner.”

Fili looked down at him and smiled. “No apology necessary, master hobbit,” he said. Bilbo smiled back. He had spoken very little to Thorin's nephew in the few days he'd been with the company. In truth, he'd spoken very little to any of them except Bofur, Balin and of course Gandalf. But there was something different about Fili, something that set him a little apart. He was alone, Bilbo realised. All the other dwarves had their brothers constantly with them, except Thorin, of course, and Thorin was the king so it made sense for him to be set apart. Perhaps it was the custom of dwarf royals to have only one child. A sad custom if so, Bilbo thought, especially given how close all the other dwarves seemed to their kin.

“Why did they not send someone else down to watch with you?” Bilbo asked. “It must be lonely, out here on your own.” Not the first time, either, he realised -- it seemed as though Fili was always set to do tasks on his own.

Fili shrugged. “I'm not much for company,” he said. 

“It must run in the family,” Bilbo said, and then bit his tongue. He had little experience of how to act around kings, but he suspected that he had just put his foot in it.

Fili didn't seem offended, though. Instead, he looked thoughtfully into the darkness. “It seems so,” he said finally with a sigh. “I think the line of Durin is fated to find itself alone.”

Bilbo nodded. “It's not so bad,” he said. “I have no brothers, either.” He had never felt the lack before, although watching the dwarves together he did wonder if it might not have been pleasant.

“What makes you think I have no brother?” Fili said, his tone suddenly sharp, and Bilbo looked up at him in surprise. _Well, now I've definitely put my foot in it_ , he thought.

“I'm terribly sorry,” he said. “I just assumed--”

“No, no,” Fili said, seeming to shrink a little into himself. “I should be sorry. You're right, Mr. Baggins. I have no brother.”

Well, now Bilbo was truly confused. Dwarves, he thought. Quite mad. Fili, though, was frowning at something out in the darkness.

“How many ponies do you see?” he asked.

Bilbo counted. “Fourteen,” he said.

“That's what I thought,” Fili said, slipping off the log. Bilbo followed him, almost running into Fili's back when he stopped abruptly. “Look,” he said, pointing through the trees to where a faint light gleamed.

Bilbo peered. “What is it?” he asked.

Fili looked down at him.

“Trolls,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Trolls they were indeed, and after them came elves, and at last Bilbo laid his eyes upon the Last Homely House. And then there were mountains -- mountains! -- and goblins deep within the mountains, and riddles in the dark. Bilbo found a sword, and a ring, and somewhere along the way he became less of a scared little hobbit and more of a burglar. And even if he was still _mostly_ a scared little hobbit, he was now a scared little hobbit with true friends who could fight with steel better than he could ever hope to learn. And the more he learned about his dwarvish companions, the more he came to appreciate their strangeness instead of comparing it unfavourably with the comfortable, fat hobbits he'd known all his life.

Still, though, there were two that he still could not understand. Thorin, of course, in his kingly solitude, with his sombre face and the seriousness he wore wrapped around him like a cloak. And Fili, the king's nephew, who smiled sometimes but never seemed to laugh, and who kept to himself without any of the menace that Thorin seemed so happy to employ. Sometimes -- when he had time to think, which was not very often any more -- Bilbo remembered the first time he had truly encountered adventure, and how he had talked to Fili between the orcs and the trolls. He wondered again about what they had been searching for, the two of them, when they looked in the face of every dead orc. But Fili didn't seem to want company, and so Bilbo never asked him, and it wasn't until one night when they had fled far across the wildlands and found themselves in the house of a great bear-man named Beorn that Bilbo took his next step towards finding the truth.

Beorn's house was remarkably comfortable, given that it was owned by someone who was a giant bear at least part of the time. The number of bees that seemed to inhabit it was somewhat disconcerting, it was true, but Bilbo had always loved honey, as all hobbits do (in truth, there are few foodstuffs that all hobbits do not love), and he was quite happy to stay within the warm, lamplit circle and put up with a few bees for the sake of safety. Besides, Thorin was still exhausted and hurt, even if most of his injuries had been miraculously healed. So Bilbo settled in for the evening, and hoped there would be a few evenings more of honey and cream and quiet, beyond the reach of the creatures that had pursued them down from the mountains.

Quiet, however, was not to be found for long. Bilbo was woken from a half doze in his chair by a growled word from Thorin, and he opened his eyes to see Fili standing with his shoulders thrown back and his chin raised in defiance. Bilbo sat up in surprise. He had not seen the young dwarf defy his uncle -- well, ever.

“We must rest,” Thorin said. There was a murmur of assent from Balin, off to one side, but Fili did not look convinced.

“You must rest,” he said. “I understand that. But I don't understand why I cannot take a small party and raid them. How often will we get this chance, uncle? A secure base in the wildlands? How many orcs could we kill?”

“And how long before the orcs killed you?” Thorin said. “This is not the Blue Mountains, Fili. There are wilder things in these lands than you have ever known.”

“But--” Fili started, but something in Thorin's face made him stop.

“There is no discussion to be had,” he said. “We will rest, and when we are rested, we will continue. Now get some sleep.”

Fili's shoulders slumped, and Bilbo was reminded of that night in the forest, before they saw the trolls. Fili slipped out of the circle of light thrown by the fire and found himself a shadowy corner, and Bilbo turned his eyes away -- it seemed wrong, somehow, to watch him when it was so clear he wanted to be alone. Instead, he slipped from the armchair to sit beside Bofur.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

Bofur glanced at him. “He's not fond of orcs, our Fili,” he said. 

Bilbo frowned. None of them were fond of orcs, least of all Bilbo himself, but he had little desire to ride out of the safety of Beorn's house to find them and kill them. What was the reasoning behind it? He'd learned long since to accept some of the strangenesses of dwarves, but nonetheless, this particular strangeness troubled him.

The trouble was not enough to keep him from sleep, however -- a relatively comfortable bed in a warm room, a stomach full of good food, these were things that Bilbo had last had in Rivendell, which felt like months ago now. He was determined to take full advantage, and he did so, right up until the soft scrape of metal against wood awoke him.

Bilbo lay still for a minute or two, listening to the quiet sounds and assuming they were just one of the dwarves attending to a call of nature. But it soon became clear that there was far too much metal involved for that. That was definitely a steel-shod boot being laced, and that, that was a sword being sheathed. Cautiously, Bilbo opened one eye. The room was dim, the fire long since out, but the sky outside beginning to lighten. Fili stood in his shadowy corner, which Bilbo now noted was next to the door. He was clad to travel. Clad for battle.

Bilbo quickly shut his eye again, trying to make sure he wasn't breathing overly fast. Whatever was going on, it was clear that Fili did not want anyone to know about it. But when he heard the sound of the door being eased back, Bilbo opened both eyes, wide. Near dawn it may have been, but it was still night, and there were orcs out there, and worse. 

Orcs, yes. And of course, Bilbo realised, that was exactly what Fili wanted.

Bilbo Baggins was still (mostly) a scared little hobbit. But he was a scared little hobbit who had grown to accept the strangeness of dwarves. More than that, he had grown to care for his companions -- even those who sat silent and apart, those who sometimes smiled but never laughed. And so when he saw Fili slip through the door, he didn't give it a moment's thought before putting on the ring he had found under the mountain, grabbing his little sword from beside his bed, and slipping out after him.

\----

By the time dawn broke, Bilbo was beginning to regret his decision. Fili apparently wanted to put as much distance between himself and Beorn's house as he could before the others awoke. Even on foot, his stride was long enough that Bilbo had to jog to keep up, all the while trying to make sure to stay far enough away that Fili wouldn't be alerted to his presence by his harsh breathing or occasional muttered curses. There was no respite until two hours after sunrise, at which point Fili sat down to eat his breakfast and Bilbo realised that he had brought no provisions with him and, in any case, had no way of eating without Fili discovering he was there. He watched as Fili shoved a whole honeycake in his mouth, his own mouth filling with saliva. It was then that he began to realise that he really should have planned this whole outing better. Though how he could have done so without losing track of Fili all together was anyone's guess. He just hoped Fili decided to turn back before Bilbo starved to death.

Fili didn't linger over breakfast, much to Bilbo's relief, and very soon they were walking again -- or Fili was walking and Bilbo was jogging. Fili kept casting glances at the sun, and as it began to reach its height, he started to look worried. At one point, Bilbo heard him mutter _where are you?_ under his breath, and he hoped against hope that Fili would fail to find any orcs and would be forced to turn back to Beorn's so as not to be caught in the open when night fell. He hoped, at least, that Fili would choose not to stay out over night. He had always seemed like a reasonably sensible dwarf.

Of course, _reasonably sensible_ generally did not include going out to look for orcs by oneself in the wildlands. Perhaps Bilbo was not a particularly good judge of dwarven character, after all. At any rate, his hopes were in vain: less than an hour after midday, Fili stilled suddenly and turned towards a little hollow that Bilbo had not noticed before. Bilbo paused too, and now that he was still, he could smell what it was that had stopped Fili in his tracks.

Rotting flesh.

Fili crept to the edge of the hollow, and Bilbo was surprised once again by how quietly dwarves could move when they'd a mind. Then he drew his sword, and Bilbo knew that he'd found what he was looking for.

\----

It was grisly work. Bilbo had not witnessed the last time this had happened, and indeed, he had had no wish to. But now he found himself drawn by horrified fascination, watching as Fili methodically worked his way through the sleeping band of orcs, dropping beside each, slitting their throats before they could make a sound. By the time his work was done, the blade of his sword was black with orc-blood, and Bilbo was sick with the sight and the smell. He turned away, covering his mouth with his hand, only to see a long-armed shadow detach itself from the green dimness under the trees and glide towards the hollow. Bilbo turned, sure that Fili would see it too, but he was engaged in his strange work of lifting each orc's head and staring into their face, and Bilbo, feet rooted to the floor, realised that there was only one thing that could be done.

“Hey!” he called, and Fili's head snapped up. He looked straight through Bilbo, but spotted the lone orc seconds later and swung into a battle stance, his sword raised. The orc roared and charged, and Bilbo fell back a step in horror, although the creature was nowhere near him. He had seen goblins, of course, many of them, but never an orc up close, not a living one, any way. The creature seemed to be pure rage, its too-long arms reaching for Fili like it would engulf him entirely.

Fili swung, drops of orc-blood flying from his sword, and the orc snarled and leaped sideways, out of the path of the blade, its arm coming round in a great arc that looked like it might take Fili's head off if it connected. Bilbo felt his hands go to his mouth in horror, but Fili ducked and darted forward simultaneously, swinging his sword for the creature's knees. This time, the blow connected, although not as deeply as Fili must have intended, for the creature danced back, surprisingly fast on its feet for something so long-limbed and heavy. The tip of the sword sliced across the orc's knees, and it lifted its head and roared in rage.

Somewhere far away, Bilbo thought he heard an answering roar, and the sweat that was trickling down his spine turned cold.

Fili seemed to hear nothing, though, or perhaps he was too busy concentrating on staying out of reach of the orc. The creature had drawn a wicked-looking blade, now, and sliced it through the air where Fili's face had been a moment before, forcing him back and back across the bodies of the orcs he'd just killed. For a moment, it seemed like Fili might take the upper hand, a particularly agile dodge and weave bringing him within slashing distance of the orc and resulting in an ugly, oozing black gash across its stomach. But even as Fili raised his sword for the final blow, his foot slipped on the blood-slicked chest of one of the dead orcs, and he went down on one knee. He was quick to try and rise, but the orc was quicker, kicking him under the chin hard enough to snap his head back. Fili went sprawling, his sword slipping from his hand, and Bilbo, watching with his hands clamped to his mouth, understood then that Fili was going to lose this fight. He would lose, and Bilbo, who had slipped out of the door of Beorn's house because he cared about dwarves, even dwarves who sometimes smiled but never laughed, would have stood by and watched it happen.

_Some adventurer you turned out to be, Mr. Baggins._

Before the words had even finished resounding in his head, Bilbo found himself, sword in hand, dashing across the orcish carnage towards the fallen dwarf. Fili was desperately scrabbling after his sword, trying to pull its twin from the sheath on his back, but the orc had already raised its great curved blade, and Bilbo had no time for consideration, no time for anything but to bring his little sword down across the backs of the creature's knees. The orc stumbled and bellowed, shocked, casting about for its assailant. Too late, it realised that the far greater threat was still lying prone before it. Fili took advantage of the moment's respite to take hold of his sword once more and strike, thrusting upwards into the orc's belly, black blood pouring down over his hand and arm.

The orc stood a moment, blinking down at the sword protruding from its body. Then, with a last, blood-chilling cry, it toppled to the ground. Bilbo found himself gaping at the curved knife, which somewhere along the way had flown from the dying orc's fingers and embedded itself, quivering, in the ground inches from Bilbo's foot. Getting involved in fights was definitely something he was going to try and avoid in the future.

The woods were suddenly remarkably quiet, now that there were no sounds of orc and dwarf and clashing steel. Bilbo looked over at Fili to see he was on his feet, sword still in hand, frowning thoughtfully at the place where Bilbo had been standing watching the fight. Bilbo swallowed, remembering how he had alerted Fili to the orc's presence. Had Fili recognised his voice? Perhaps the best thing to do would be to take the ring off now and tell the young dwarf in no uncertain terms that he should be go back to Beorn's house and heed his uncle's commands next time, since it was clear that gallivanting around the countryside after orcs was only going to get him into trouble.

Unfortunately, Bilbo suspected that that would not actually help matters.

Fili moved quietly over to the edge of the hollow, standing on the very spot where Bilbo had stood, frozen with fear, and turning slowly, peering into the dimness beneath the trees. 

“Is somebody here?” he asked, and Bilbo held his breath.

After a moment of utter stillness -- for it seemed even the birds had fled the forest with the coming of the orcs -- Fili frowned and muttered something to himself in the gruff dwarvish language that Bilbo was not permitted to learn. He turned back to the slain orcs and bent to lift the head of the one closest to him, peering into its face, and Bilbo wondered again just what it was he was looking for.

He didn't spend much time wondering, though, for a moment later, the far-off cry that Bilbo had heard came again, closer now, and this time Fili could not fail but hear it. He froze, one hand still curled in the clothing of the orc he had been inspecting, the other tightening on his sword hilt. The sun was barely past its zenith, but Bilbo knew with a sudden, frightening certainty that they would not make it back to Beorn's comfortable hearth tonight.

And then Fili started to run.

\----

If keeping up with a striding dwarf had been difficult, keeping up with a sprinting one was ten times worse. Bilbo was saved only by his light-footedness, his ability to race over uneven ground where Fili had to take more care. Even so, they had been running less than a quarter hour when Bilbo knew it was hopeless. If he didn't do something soon, he would lose Fili; and if he lost him, he would be alone in the wildlands with little idea of which way they had come and with a pack of orcs on his trail. The ring might hide him from their eyes, but it could not hide him from their noses. And so, after one last burst of speed that put him almost on Fili's heels, he slipped off the ring and gasped out:

“Master Fili, if you please.”

Fili half stumbled, righted himself against a tree trunk, and looked back. His eyes grew round in his face as he beheld Bilbo.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said. “What in the seven kingdoms are you doing here?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I followed you,” he wheezed. “There's no time to explain. I can't keep up, I'm sorry.”

Fili's eyes went to the trees behind Bilbo, innocent-looking now, but no doubt soon to be witness to the trampling march of orcs. “Can you not run?” he asked, an edge of urgency in his voice.

“Not fast enough,” Bilbo said, and Fili nodded.

“Then you must ride,” he said, and held out his arms, crouching a little. “Come, master hobbit,” he said. “You will have a royal steed today.”

Bilbo glanced around, but there was nothing for it; and if he knew the fortitude of dwarves (and he had had more than enough opportunity to observe it in the past few weeks), Fili would run faster with Bilbo on his back than Bilbo would unencumbered. So he clambered on, and Fili stood, taking a brief moment to ensure Bilbo was firmly attached, and then began to run again.

\----

Bilbo wasn't entirely sure that being carried by a running dwarf was any less of a trial than chasing after one. The ride was exceedingly bumpy, Fili's feet pounding where a hobbit's would dance, pounding hard enough that Bilbo could feel it in every bone in his body. The two sword hilts that protruded from Fili's shoulders took it in turns to slap Bilbo in the face, one of them smearing orc-blood on his cheek each time. Fili's hair flew back, tangling in Bilbo's mouth, wrapping itself around his neck, threatening to choke him. He wondered if that was exactly why dwarves were so determined to keep their hair long -- to use as a weapon when all else had failed. And somewhere behind them, somewhere that seemed a little closer every time he heard their crowing cries, the orcs kept up the chase.

The ground flew by beneath the dwarf's feet, almost dizzying Bilbo if he looked at it for too long. The wind whipping past his ears was chill even in the early afternoon sunlight, and after a while Bilbo's fingers began to grow numb with clutching at the stiff leather of Fili's clothing. He glanced behind him only once, seeing nothing but trees and grass, but a hooting call came as if they had seen him looking, and he turned sharply back, burying his face in Fili's back. 

And then they entered a dense stand of trees and the pounding feet stopped abruptly, Fili almost overbalancing as the pair found themselves confronted by a solid grey wall, a rocky cliff rising before them, not high enough that they could have seen it above the tall pines that grew in front, but enough that there was little hope that they could scale it.

They were trapped.

Fili sucked in a breath, and Bilbo tapped on his shoulder. 

“How far does it extend?” he asked, as if he expected the young dwarf to know everything about the wildlands. 

“Only one way to find out,” said Fili, and started jogging eastwards -- at least, Bilbo thought it was east, although the sun was barely visible through the thick pine branches, and he had long since lost his sense of which direction he was pointing in. The cliff continued, grim and grey, glowering down at them as if it was displeased with their intrusion. Behind them -- but not far behind, certainly not far enough -- the orcs howled.

And then, there was a cave.

“In here,” Fili hissed, and grabbed Bilbo by the wrist, dragging him down the slight incline into the gloomy interior of the cave. Bilbo supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Dwarves seemed to have an affinity for being underground, after all. On the other hand, they were certainly not the only creatures that felt that way.

“Won't it be easier for them to find us in here?” Bilbo asked. “In the dark, I mean.”

“Maybe, but sometimes--” Fili was feeling along the walls until he paused, giving a quiet cry of triumph. “No orc could pass through here,” he said, pointing to a narrow crack that Bilbo personally thought might be rather too slim for a sturdy dwarf to pass through, either. Fili surprised him, though, slipping out of his scabbards and some of his outer clothes and squeezing through, tearing part of his tunic as he passed and swearing quietly. Bilbo followed after him, and they found that the narrow entrance widened a little, allowing Fili to walk forwards instead of sideways like a crab. The tunnel wound its way into the cliff, and they followed it, hoping, Fili said, to find an exit somewhere where the orcs would not find them.

After some minutes and several twists and turns, however, it became clear there would be no exit.

“Well,” Bilbo said, examining the walls and ceiling of the smallish cavern they found themselves in by the light of a stub of candle Fili had produced from his pack, “at least it's dry.”

“Dry, yes,” Fili said. “But the orcs will smell us in here. They'll block up the entrance, and _dry_ will not help us then.” He knelt on the floor of the cave, scraping up a handful of the damp dust that covered it and smearing it on his face. “We should try and cover our smell,” he explained. “You too, master hobbit.”

Bilbo frowned at him. It was not that he had any great objection to covering his skin in dirt, although the prospect of when he might next see a hot bath was a rather dispiriting one. But an idea was forming in his mind, one that a few weeks ago he might have dismissed as far too dangerous for a simple hobbit from the Shire, but that now, trapped in a cave with a dwarf and soon to be besieged by orcs, seemed as simple as a country stroll by comparison.

“I could lay a false trail,” he said. “Give me something of yours, that smells like you.”

Fili frowned at him. “Don't be absurd,” he said. “The orcs will be here soon. If they see you--”

“They won't,” Bilbo said. “I'm -- I'm actually rather good at this burglar thing.”

Fili did not look convinced. “I'm sorry, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “I can't let you take such a great risk. It is my fault we're here, after all.”

“No, look,” said Bilbo, and then he put on the ring.

Fili's head jerked, eyes going round. He looked from side to side, as though he thought Bilbo had just stepped into the shadows, and then scrambled to his feet, hand going to the knife he carried at his side. “Mr. Baggins?” he said. “Where did you go?”

“I didn't go anywhere.” Bilbo slipped the ring off, and found himself rather enjoying Fili's look of astonishment. “I've been here all the time.”

Fili's mouth opened and closed silently. “You are-- You are a wizard?” he said, sounding very uncertain. 

Bilbo couldn't help but laugh. A wizard, of all things, Bilbo Baggins from the Shire! “No, but I do have a magic ring,” he said. “And I can lay a trail with no risk at all, if you'll just give me something quick.”

Fili blinked, but Bilbo had rather emphasised the word _quick_ , and it seemed to bring the dwarf back to the urgency of the situation. Visibly swallowing his questions, he tore off the part of his tunic that was hanging loose after his scrape through the cave entrance. It was stained with orc blood, but some of it was also a dark, rusty red in the candlelight.

“You're hurt,” Bilbo said.

“A scratch, no more,” Fili replied. “Be quick!”

Bilbo nodded and slipped on the ring, padding out through the cave as fast as he dared. Once he reached the outside world, he made sure to sweep the pine needles and dust across the faint prints of iron-shod feet leading into the cave, and then kicked up the thick carpet of needles as much as he could, leading away from the cave and back into the trees. He made sure to trail the bloody cloth along on the ground, as well. There was certainly no harm in the belt and braces approach, after all.

Perhaps half a mile distant from the cave mouth, Bilbo found a narrow river and splashed into it, wading downstream for several hundred yards before pausing, letting the bloody cloth flow away in the rush of water. He reached for a handful of loam on the bank, meaning to disguise his scent before creeping back to the cave, but a glance back up the river had his hand freezing in midair.

The orcs were standing on the bank some way upstream, staring right at him.

Frantically, Bilbo clasped his hands, checking he was still wearing the ring. The metal was warm against his fingers, and he closed his eyes and hoped with all his might that the magic had not worn off. 

When he opened his eyes, the orcs were still there, but they were no longer looking at Bilbo. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, which quickly turned into a soundless moan of terror as the first orc stepped into the stream and started in his direction.

“'They're down here somewhere,” called the leading orc, a great brute with a scar crossing one eye. “I can smell 'em.”

 _Me_ , Bilbo realised. He can smell _me_. And here he was, standing submerged to his waist, just watching them coming.

Panic wormed its way into Bilbo's heart, but it was only a moment before he realised what he had to do. He sank silently into the water, leaving only his nostrils protruding, and then submerging them, too, as the orcs came close enough to touch. He blinked, watching the blurry shapes move above him and praying that they would not walk into him, would somehow manage to miss him despite the narrowness of the watercourse. A glance to his left, and he saw monstrous pale legs pass no more than an inch from his shoulder, clawed hands trailing in the water that made him duck his head out of the way. His lungs burned with holding his breath, but he dared not even let a few bubbles rise to the surface. Who knew how observant these dreadful creatures were?

And then, by some miracle, they were gone. 

Bilbo didn't know if they were gone completely, but there were no more shapes that he could see, and in truth he had no choice in the matter any more. He simply had to breathe. He broke the surface as quietly as he could, for all that he longed to burst up into the world and gasp delicious air into his lungs, and he was fully prepared to take a quiet breath and submerge himself again, if need be. But when his eyes came above the surface, he saw that there were no orcs upriver, nor downriver either, at least not in sight. Bilbo let himself stand, taking a deep breath that was rather noisier than he'd planned. Still, it seemed he had escaped.

For now, at least.

\----

Sopping wet and caked in mud and pine needles, Bilbo found the trip back to the cave a great deal longer than the trip away had been. The area was crawling with orcs, at least ten of them, all shouting to each other, trying to find where the trail had come out of the river. More than once, Bilbo had to flatten himself against a trunk and hold his breath, thinking piney thoughts of resin and dark, snowy winters in the hope that it might make him smell more like a tree. More than once, he thought about leaving Fili and going for help, only to remind himself that he didn't know where he was, and that Fili could well be an orc's dinner long before he could ever find his way back.

Finally, though, he made it to the cave, only to find two or three orcs seated in the outer part, arguing over some weapon they had stolen from the last unfortunate traveller to cross their paths. One was sitting right in front of the crack, and Bilbo held his breath and took tiny, silent steps, sidling along the wall in an attempt to stop his wet trousers brushing the scarred, bare skin of the orc's arm.

And then, finally, he was through, slipping along the narrow tunnel with its twists and turns until the sound of the orcs arguing had dwindled to nothing. As the tunnel widened out, he found himself leaning forward, hands on his knees, and gulping deep breaths as though trying to make up for all the ones he had missed since he saw the orcs on the riverbank. 

Fili came to his feet at the sound, swords drawn before Bilbo had even seen him reach for them. He scanned the cave with a frown.

“Mr. Baggins?” he said. “Is that you?”

Recovering himself a little, Bilbo slipped the ring from his finger. Fili's shoulders slumped a little in relief.

“You were gone so long,” he said. “I was afraid they had caught you.”

“Not for want of trying, I can tell you that much,” Bilbo said, sinking to the floor. “I'm afraid they've set up camp in the cave, though they don't know we're here.”

Fili sheathed his swords and nodded, thinking for a while. “Well,” he said, “I suppose we should make ourselves as comfortable as we can, if we're to be here overnight.”

Overnight. The thought sent a shiver down Bilbo's spine. Overnight in the wildlands with orcs between them and the outside world, and nothing but Fili's (admittedly impressive) collection of weapons and Bilbo's little sword to defend themselves with. He rather wished he had simply let the young dwarf walk out of the door this morning, although when he recalled that that would have meant certain death for Fili he repented of the thought. 

“The candle's burning out,” Fili said, settling himself on the floor. “I'm afraid we're in for a dark time of it.”

Bilbo drew his sword, letting the blue glow light the little cavern. “Never mind the candle,” he said. “Do you have any food?”

\----

“What I don't understand is,” said Bilbo, staring up at the ceiling and feeling his stomach growl -- for although Fili had indeed brought quite a lot of food, it takes a great deal to satiate a hobbit who hasn't eaten all day -- “why you felt the need to go out looking for orcs in the first place. It seems to me we have orcs enough and to spare following us around without trying to find more. Not to mention how upset your uncle will be when we get back.”

Fili, seated with his back to the cave wall a short distance away, sighed and laced his hands behind his head. “It is my duty,” he said. “Something I think my uncle sometimes forgets.”

Bilbo frowned, remembering his conversation with Bofur, weeks ago on the other side of the mountains. “It was Thorin who made you swear, though, wasn't it?” he said. 

“There was no need to make me swear,” was Fili's quiet reply.

“But why does he hate orcs so much?” Bilbo insisted. Fili shifted a little.

“They are orcs,” he said. “Is that not enough?”

“Well,” Bilbo said, “I suppose -- well, no, not really.” Certainly it was no surprise that Thorin might hate orcs -- Bilbo wasn't too fond of them himself, after all -- but hating orcs was one thing, deliberately seeking them out to slaughter them in their beds was another.

Fili was quiet for a moment. Then he looked at Bilbo and away, as if he couldn't quite decide whether to tell him something. “Orcs have killed all the sons of my forefathers for generations now,” he said. “They have sworn a blood oath to wipe us from the earth. And we, in turn, have sworn to do the same for them.”

Well. That, at least, was a reason. _All the sons of my forefathers_. Bilbo knew that some of the other dwarves in the company were related to Thorin and Fili, but rather distantly, he thought. And he had heard nothing of sons or fathers or other uncles, only Fili's denial that he had any brothers.

“It seems like they have an easier task than you,” he said, although he tried to sound sympathetic. 

“That is certainly true,” Fili said. “There is only my uncle, now.”

“And you,” Bilbo pointed out.

Fili looked down at his hands and smiled a strange smile in the dim blue light. “Yes,” he said. “And me.”

Bilbo lay back, resting his head on his hand and watching the shadows in the corners of the cave. “He'll be worried about you,” he said, although to be honest it was hard to imagine Thorin worried. Furious, yes. Worried, no. Nonetheless, Fili was his closest kin, and surely even Thorin must have a heart somewhere under all those furs. “He'll think you're dead.”

“I hope he turns out to be wrong,” Fili said.

It was turning out, Bilbo thought, to be a rather melancholy conversation. But then, it seemed that Fili was a rather melancholy dwarf. Another thought occurred to him, and he decided that now was the time to ask it, since they certainly weren't going anywhere any time soon.

“What are you looking for?” he asked. “When you look at the orcs' faces, I mean.”

Fili didn't answer, and Bilbo thought that perhaps he should have restrained his curiosity. What business was it of his, after all, the peculiarities of dwarves?

But then Fili sighed and spoke, almost too quietly for Bilbo's sharp ears to catch.

“A murderer,” he said.

\----

It was impossible to tell the passage of time in the cave. The only way was for Bilbo to slip on the ring every now and then and creep down the narrow passageway, peer through the crack in the wall to see if daylight was yet filtering in through the cave entrance. Every time, he hoped that the orcs would be gone, but there were always two or three of them there, quarrelling in that guttural language that sent Bilbo's teeth on edge. Finally, day dawned somewhere outside their rocky prison, and the orcs fell asleep.

Bilbo crept back to Fili. “They haven't left,” he said. “But they are sleeping.”

Fili nodded. “How many?”

“Four or five,” Bilbo said. “I suppose we could wait another night, see if they go.”

“No,” Fili shook his head. “We have no more food, and we'll be no good if we're too hungry to make our way back to Beorn's. We may have to run.”

Bilbo swallowed, trying to ignore the gurgling of his stomach. Running had seemed unappealing enough yesterday, when he had had a good night's sleep and a hearty meal the day before. Now it seemed almost impossible, and in another day, who could say? Fili was right. They had to get out.

“Put on your ring,” said Fili, taking off his boots. “Go and see if there are any guards on watch.” 

Bilbo nodded and slipped the ring on his finger. He was stepping into the tunnel when Fili called quietly to him. 

“Yes?” he replied.

“If there are guards, will you be able to get rid of them?” Fili asked.

Bilbo looked down at his sword, still glowing in his hand, and then up at Fili's serious face. The last child of his forefathers.

“Yes,” he said. “I think I will.”

\----

Bilbo was feeling quite a lot less brave by the time he had picked his way past the sleeping orcs to the cave entrance. There weren't too many of them, true, but Bilbo had spent the greater part of his time since he left the Shire trying very hard to avoid being this close to orcs. Lately, he seemed to be failing all too often.

He covered his mouth and nose with his hand against the stench of rotting meat and tried not to look at the remains of the orcs' dinner, still hanging forlornly from a spit. It was too small to have once been anything other than a rabbit, he decided, ignoring the small voice in his mind that informed him that large things could be made smaller quite easily with the application of sharp knives. 

He reached the entrance without incident, and stepped out, glancing from side to side to see if any guards were present. He could see none, though, and he paused for a moment, letting the sun fall on his face and breathing the clean, sweet air of the forest. It seemed an age since he had stood in the open air, although it had only been the afternoon before. Then he turned back to the entrance and took off the ring, waving to the crack from where Fili was watching him. 

The dwarf emerged with care, almost dropping his boots as he tried to pull them through the gap side by side rather than one at a time. The horrified expression on his blackened face would have been comical, if the potential consequences had not been so severe. As it was, Bilbo found himself making an involuntary catching motion as Fili grabbed for the slippery leather, getting a firm hold just before the boots hit the ground. Bilbo closed his eyes and tried to push down the sick feeling in his stomach. He had spent all too much time with his heart in his mouth lately.

Fili trod carefully around the sleeping orcs, knife in one hand, boots in the other. He crouched by the first orc he passed and drew the knife sharply across its throat. Bilbo groaned silently. Save us all from the stubbornness of dwarves! Of course a child of Durin could not be expected to forget his blood oath, even if it meant saving his life and the life of any innocent hobbits he happened to have dragged into his madness.

 _Go_ , Bilbo mouthed at Fili. _Let's just go_. But Fili was intent on his task, slitting the throat of the second orc as quickly and quietly as the first. Bilbo flapped a hand to attract his attention, and Fili looked up, frowning.

 _They will follow us_ , he mouthed, the words exaggerated enough that Bilbo could read them. Ah, well. That was a good point, actually.

Fili made short work of the third orc, and Bilbo, trying hard to stop himself bouncing on his feet in impatience, began to think that perhaps they might get out of here alive after all. He kept on feeling that way right up until one of the last two orcs grunted and rolled over, flinging an arm across Fili's bare foot. Fili froze, eyes wide, and tried, ever so slowly, to pull himself free. But the motion must have disturbed the orc, and he started groping, grabbing hold of Fili's foot and sitting up to see what he held.

The bellow of bloodlust was mixed with the sound of Fili's boots clattering to the floor and his swords sliding from their sheaths. All in all, it was enough to wake the dead, and certainly enough to wake the other orc, who leapt to his feet when he saw a heavily armed dwarf just a few feet away. Fili was already engaged in close battle with the first orc, and Bilbo could see nothing for it but to get involved himself, even though he had decided only yesterday that fighting was really not something he wished to spend more time doing.

“Yeeargh!” he cried, and threw himself into the fray, slashing at the second orc's legs. He caught the creature unawares, but Bilbo was no fighter, and it was only moments before the orc picked him up with a snarl and flung him against the wall, as one might a particularly annoying insect. Hobbits have thick enough heads, to be sure, but nonetheless Bilbo found himself in a dazed heap at the bottom of the wall, and before he could quite gather his wits, there was a guttural cry from his left, and a third orc came barrelling into Bilbo, rolling them over and over across the rocky floor. 

Bilbo struggled violently, cursing himself for having somehow missed this one. He had somehow got his sword trapped beneath himself, and the third orc was on top of him, pummelling him in the face and giving him no chance to retrieve it. He raised his arms to protect himself, and tried to use his weight to roll them back over, although there was little hope that something the size of a hobbit could roll something the size of an orc.

To his surprise, the orc lost its balance, and he rolled until he was on top of it, his hand groping for his sword as he tried to fend off the creature's blows. Somewhere along the way, he became aware that something rather strange was going on. Every orc he had seen so far -- and he had seen far more than he had ever wished to -- had been bald and pale, with perhaps a few wisps of hair here and there. But this one had dark hair all over its face, its eyes barely visible through the tangle. There was no time to contemplate it, though, for the creature swiped a stinging blow across Bilbo's face, gouging its claws through the skin of his cheek, and Bilbo recoiled, dealing a blow with his sword in return.

The quarters were too close, and the angle too tight -- Bilbo succeeded in slicing a deep cut across the creature's outflung arm, but nothing more. The orc shrieked in rage and threw Bilbo off, stumbling to its feet and staggering backwards, one hand clamped over the wound in its arm, blood welling through its fingers. Bilbo jumped up, too, sword at the ready for whatever it would try next.

It was then that Bilbo noticed something strange. Well, two strange things, in fact. The first was that the orc was nowhere near as large as an orc ought to be, barely taller than Bilbo, in fact. The second was that the blood seeping through the creature's fingers was undeniably, indisputably red.

“What--?” Bilbo breathed, but any further thoughts were interrupted by Fili's yell behind him.

“Look out!” 

Bilbo turned, and saw that Fili, having apparently dispatched both of the other orcs, was charging towards the creature that had been fighting Bilbo. Both his swords were drawn, and the creature stumbled back, hissing.

“No!” Bilbo cried before he had really had time to consider it, and then, still worse, he found himself jumping in front of the blur of bloody steel than was Fili. It was only the dwarf's excellent reflexes that saved him from being skewered, and as it was, Bilbo found himself with a terrifyingly sharp blade just half an inch from his eye.

“Er,” he said.

“Mr. Baggins,” Fili said, staring at him from far too close with an expression that suddenly reminded Bilbo rather unpleasantly of his uncle. “What on earth do you think you are doing?”

“It's not an orc,” Bilbo blurted out. He could hear the creature breathing heavily behind him, and he suspected that he was in for a sneak attack any minute, but all the same. “I just, um. I wanted you to know that it wasn't an orc. Before you killed it.”

Fili straightened up, staring at him and then over his shoulder at the creature. “Orc or not, it's no friend of ours,” he said, and shoved Bilbo aside.

There was a growl from behind him, and then the creature launched itself, a ball of tangled hair and scrabbling claws, landing on Fili before he could get his swords up. He stumbled backwards in surprise, landing hard on his back, and then rolled the creature over with ease -- it was smaller than Fili, Bilbo saw, skinny and narrow-shouldered -- dropping one sword and grabbing the hair over its face to pull its head up.

And then he stopped.

The creature eyed him for a second, dark eyes in a face that looked like it had several centuries worth of grime caked onto it but had none of the deformity of orcish features. Fili stared down at it like he'd turned to stone. The creature took advantage of the situation to bite Fili hard in the forearm and then kick its way out from under him, kneeing him in the stomach and grabbing for the discarded sword.

“Fili!” Bilbo yelled, snatching the sword himself and pulling it out of the creature's reach. “What's the matter with you?”

The creature cocked its head on one side, scowling at Bilbo for a second, then kicked Fili again and suddenly turned, making a bolt for the entrance. Fili made a noise that sounded only half human and launched himself to his feet, flinging himself at the creature in a tackle that brought them both to the ground. The creature, though, had found a knife lying discarded by one of the dead orcs, and wriggled out of Fili's grasp, standing half-crouched with its back to the wall, brandishing the knife at Fili. Fili climbed slowly to his feet, hands raised, palms outwards. He looked dazed and almost lost.

Bilbo could hardly believe his eyes. Here was the dwarf who had just killed five orcs single-handedly, stymied by a shrunken little thing with a blade barely bigger than a pocket knife. “Fili,” he said again. “Why don't you fight?”

Fili cast him a despairing glance, and the creature took that as an opportunity to lunge forward. Bilbo cried out a warning, and Fili stumbled back, all his grace having apparently deserted him, and barely dodged out of the path of the blade. The creature slashed once more, and Fili made that strange noise again, then ducked under the creature's knife arm and came up behind it, wrapping a sturdy arm round its throat. For the first time, Bilbo noticed a thick iron collar there, mostly hidden by the creature's knotted hair.

The creature brought its hands up to its throat, kicking and slashing ineffectually with the knife. Fili raised his eyes to heaven and muttered something that sounded a great deal like _mother, forgive me_. The creature's kicks and punches weakened, and then stilled, its eyes rolling up in its head, and Fili let it go, catching it as it slumped towards the ground and laying it down with an odd sort of gentleness.

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. Now, perhaps, they could get on with getting away from this confounded cave before any more orcs appeared. He took the few steps to stand beside Fili, who was crouched over the creature, brushing its hair back from its face with an unsteady hand.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, looking down at the strange little thing. “It almost seems like a dwarf.” Definitely not an orc, at any rate.

Fili looked up at him, and Bilbo saw to his amazement that his eyes were full of tears.

“It is a dwarf,” he said, voice hoarse. “It's my brother.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo found himself speechless at Fili's extraordinary revelation. He stood with his little sword still in his hand, staring as the young dwarf knelt over the odd creature on the ground, brushing its hair back further and laying a hand on its cheek.

“Kili,” Fili said. “Wake up.”

“You told me you didn't have a brother,” Bilbo said. It was possible that it was not the most sensitive thing to say, given the circumstances. Fili glanced at him with a look of such despair that Bilbo felt like kicking himself, but he didn't answer, turning instead back to the ragged bundle before him.

“Come on,” he said. “Come on, brother. I didn't hurt you, not really, I'm sure of it.” He didn't sound very sure. The creature -- the dwarf, Bilbo reminded himself -- lay silent and still, and Bilbo decided it was time to make himself useful.

He found a coil of rope in the corner. Not good, clean rope like dwarves and hobbits carried when they were away from home, but blackened, twisted rope made from who knew what horrors. Still, it would serve the purpose, and Bilbo returned to where Fili still bent over his sleeping kinsman, begging him hoarsely to wake.

“Here,” Bilbo said, holding out the rope. Fili glanced at him and then at his offering. He still seemed lost and dazed, and he frowned.

“What do I need rope for?” he asked.

“To, um.” Bilbo realised that this might be more tricky than he had first thought. “Well, I thought you might want to tie his hands. To stop him from trying to stab you again when he wakes up.”

The look Fili gave him this time was one of astonishment turning rapidly to anger. Bilbo fell back a step and carefully lowered the hand holding the rope to his side.

“Bind him?” Fili asked. “We will not _bind_ him. He is a dwarf of Durin's line, son of Dis, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield. He is _my brother_.”

In all the excitement, Bilbo had not yet considered that this strange little dwarf was also Thorin's nephew. Well, that would certainly put the cat among the pigeons, and no mistake.

“Yes, of course,” he said, raising his hands in placation. Fili, having turned immediately back to his brother, did not see the gesture, but it made Bilbo feel a little better, at least. “On the other hand, he does seem to be a little -- out of sorts right now, and I wonder if it wouldn't be better to--”

“He'll be fine,” Fili interrupted without so much as glancing round. “He's had a shock, but when he wakes, he'll know me. You'll see.” 

Bilbo considered pointing out that the other option was that the creature would murder them both and eat them for breakfast, but he decided to keep his peace. He did, however, keep the coil of rope in his hand, clutching it a little tighter as the little dwarf began to show signs of waking.

“That's right, that's right,” Fili said. “Just open your eyes.”

The dwarf's eyelids fluttered open, and Fili made a sound that could really only be described as a croon. Bilbo had heard many odd noises from dwarves in the last weeks, but crooning was certainly a new one.

“Kili,” Fili said. “Oh, brother. Where have you been?”

The creature -- Kili, Bilbo decided, he really should start thinking of it as Kili, as much as it might look like a wild thing from some nameless, terrifying forest -- blinked up at Fili and tensed, but didn't struggle as before. Fili smiled and clasped its -- his -- shoulders. 

“You know me,” he said. “Of course you know me.” He stood, holding a hand out to Kili, and after a short hesitation, Kili grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled up, never making a sound. Fili clapped him on the shoulder, grinning broadly and turning to Bilbo.

“Do you see, master hobbit?” he said. “My brother is--”

Whatever it was his brother was was lost to posterity, for the moment Fili's back was turned, the little dwarf hooked his foot around Fili's ankle and felled him as neatly as if he had been a child and not a sturdy, heavy dwarf. Kili took to his heels without delay, racing out of the cave, and Bilbo leapt forward to see if Fili was all right. The dwarf was sprawled on his back on top of one of the dead orcs, gasping as if slightly winded, but he grabbed Bilbo by the lapels, his expression frantic and possibly also slightly mad.

“Catch him, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “Don't let him disappear!”

And so Bilbo did indeed find himself running, on no breakfast and barely any dinner the night before, running after a strange little dwarf thing that apparently would like nothing better than to scratch his eyes out and wondering, as he had done more times than he could count in the last few weeks, just what had possessed him to ever leave his comfortable armchair and his warm hearth in the pursuit of something so ludicrous as an adventure.

The dwarf was taller than Bilbo, though not by much, and longer-legged with it, but he was also limping noticeably, and stumbled more than once. For all that, he had a head start, and within a few minutes of beginning the chase, Bilbo was both beginning to despair of ever catching him and wondering what he would do if he did. Would he tackle him, like Fili had? Trying to stab him with his sword didn't seem like a particularly good idea, and tripping him up would almost certainly require more finesse than Bilbo possessed when it came to brawling. Tackling him might too, for that matter, but it was Bilbo's best option, and he had almost decided on it when he heard a familiar pounding of iron-shod feet behind him and glanced back to see Fili gaining fast. If he had been running the day before, now he was sprinting, and Bilbo found himself diving out of the way, sure that if he did not Fili would just plough straight through him to get to his quarry. Moments later, Kili was down, and the two of them were rolling downhill, grappling with each other, Fili pleading in that dwarvish language and Kili making the occasional grunt but otherwise silent. Bilbo scrambled after them, hoping that the racket would not be enough to attract any more orcs.

Finally, Fili won out, sitting astride his brother's chest and holding his wrists down with strong hands. Kili kicked and struggled beneath him, but Fili remained firm, staring down into his brother's face.

“Kili,” he said. “Kili, please. You know me. You must know me.”

Kili made no answer, but spat in Fili's face. The saliva dripped off Fili's cheek, but when he turned his head to look at Bilbo, there were tears there, too.

“Master hobbit,” he said, sounding as if every word pained him. “The rope.”

\----

There were already iron bands around Kili's wrists -- manacles, Bilbo realised with a shudder -- and it should have been little work for Fili to thread the foul orcish rope through the loops and tie it, but somehow he fumbled the knots three times. Bilbo stepped forward once to offer his help, but the look on Fili's face stopped him in his tracks. Kili had quietened the moment Fili had pulled his arms behind his back, and now he stood still, hanging his head and shaking it every now and then, as if he was trying to get his hair to fall back over his face. 

When Fili had finally succeeded, he gripped his brother's arm and walked round to face him. Kili kept his head down, and ducked when Fili tried to brush his hair from his eyes.

“Kili,” Fili said, but Kili didn't so much as twitch at the sound of his name. Bilbo saw those dark eyes glance his way from under the tangled hair, and then dart away again. Fili sighed. “You'll get better,” he said. “This is only until you get better.”

All signs suggested that Kili neither knew nor cared what Fili said. Bilbo shifted from foot to foot. 

“We should go,” he said. “If any more orcs come--”

Fili put a hand to his eyes, the other never leaving his brother's arm. “You are right, of course,” he said. “We must take him back to Beorn's. My uncle will know what to do.”

Privately, Bilbo doubted if there was anything that could be done. Kili was wide awake and clearly as lucid as he was likely to get, but he certainly did not know who Fili was nor apparently remember how to speak. For all they knew, he had no wits left to him at all. But maybe Gandalf--

Yes. Yes, maybe Gandalf. 

Fili glanced up at the sun, shining palely through the thick pine boughs. “This way,” he said, and took the lead, pulling his silent brother behind him.

Bilbo followed, worry gnawing deep in his stomach.

\----

Towards evening, Fili stopped with a curse. They were crossing an open, grassy stretch beside a stream, the land sloping away beneath them to disappear into dark, watchful forest. It was the best view they had had all day, and Fili turned and turned about, looking up the hill and down.

“Fili?” Bilbo asked. The way the young dwarf was casting about was making him quite nervous.

“I've lost the way,” Fili said. “I was sure I knew it, but--” He looked up at Bilbo, and Bilbo saw for the first time that he really was young, young and rapidly losing hope as he clung to the arm of the brother who didn't know him. “I've lost it,” he said again.

Really, Bilbo ought to have been angry. After all, Fili had led him on this little escapade. It was Fili's stubborn determination to fulfil his personal oath in the face of all common sense that had put both their lives in danger multiple times in the last two days, and that had found them now lost in the wildlands with a companion who might well kill them in their sleep. And yet, looking at the strain that was clear in every line of the young dwarf's body, at the way he clung to his brother's arm as though for support rather than to keep him from running, Bilbo realised that underneath all the melancholy and the quiet determination and the impressive moustache, Fili was barely more than a boy. And try as he might, he could not be angry. Anyway, it wouldn't do them any good even if he were.

“Well,” he said. “We will find it in the morning. But we can't keep walking abroad at night, you know. Not out here.”

Fili nodded. “We'll walk down the stream,” he said. “It will hide our trail, and maybe there's somewhere near where we can rest safely.”

It was the nearest thing they had to a plan, and so Bilbo splashed into the water, and Fili followed after him, putting one foot in the stream and then stopping.

“Kili?” he said, looking up at his brother.

Kili had stopped dead on the bank. His hair was hanging across his face, and Bilbo could see little more than dark, downcast eyes, but his feet were planted firmly, and no amount of tugging from Fili would dislodge him.

“Kili, we have to go,” Fili said, and even Bilbo tried, looking up at the strange little dwarf and patiently explaining that if he refused to step in the river, orcs would most likely eat all of them before sunrise. None of it seemed to move him -- although it was unlikely that he understood a word -- and finally Fili stepped back up onto the bank and physically forced Kili into the water. It was clear to Bilbo, watching from the streambed, that he tried to be as gentle as he could, but Kili stumbled nonetheless and landed on his knees in the rocky stream, the water flowing up to his chest. Immediately, he was trying to fight his way to his feet, but the rocks were slippery and he only succeeded in falling again, headlong this time, and disappearing under the foam. Fili was on his knees in a moment, groping under the water for his errant brother, and seconds later he pulled the dark head up, one hand on his shoulder and the other tangled in his hair.

Kili was spluttering and gasping, spitting out water, but at the same time he was struggling, trying to fight even though with bound hands and lost footing there was nothing for him to do. Fili was rising to his feet, trying to bring his brother with him, but his grip slipped on Kili's arm and Kili went down again, Fili's tight grip on his hair the only thing that prevented him from being submerged completely.

There was no way that Bilbo could see this ending well. Kili was thrashing in the water now, breath coming in great gasps, and Fili seemed to be trying desperately to drag him to his feet by his hair alone. Bilbo leapt forward, grabbing one of Kili's bound arms. “Help me!” he cried to Fili, hoping that his voice would break through the semi-daze the young dwarf had been in all day. He elbowed Fili in the ribs for good measure, and whether it was that or the request for help, Fili seemed to wake from his frantic panic and took hold of Kili's other arm, loosening his grip on Kili's hair. Between them they managed to pull Kili to his feet, and then, without thinking, both of them let go.

Kili span to face them, dripping hair hanging over his face. His expression was clear enough now, though, black eyes boring into Fili, and even if it had not been, the words that came out of his mouth made his feelings plain enough. Bilbo didn't understand them, but they seemed to roll and slither over the sound of the rushing water, thick and dark, and crawl across Bilbo's skin.

Fili stepped back as though he had been dealt a physical blow. “Black Speech,” he whispered, and Bilbo realised that the words Kili spoke were of the orcish language, though they sounded if anything more cruel coming from a dwarvish tongue. But there was no time to stand and consider now; the sun was fast dropping to the horizon, and Kili's eyes were widening as he realised that he was free.

“Fili!” Bilbo cried. Fili understood just in time, leaping forward and grasping his brother's arm again. Kili's head dropped, his shoulders hunching, and Fili glanced at Bilbo as if to ask _what should I do?_

Bilbo had no answer, though, and so all they could do was trudge onwards.

\----

Before it grew quite dark, they found a little hollow in the hillside, ringed with trees and with a clear view below them and no easy way down from above. It was merely steps from the river, too, although far enough away that the rushing water would not cover any but the stealthiest footsteps. After some argument, Fili agreed to secure his brother to one of the trees, threading more of the orcish rope through the manacles. After all, as Bilbo pointed out, they couldn't very well sit on him all night.

Kili made no protest as they settled him at the base of the tree. The scratching, biting hellion who had managed initially to convince Bilbo he was an orc seemed to have disappeared entirely, replaced by a creature that barely seemed alive. His head hung low between his shoulders, and the only movement he made was the occasional violent shudder. Bilbo understood why when he realised his clothes and hair were still completely soaked through.

Fili had clearly made the same observation. “Here,” he said, pulling off his fur-trimmed coat and leaning forward to drape it over his brother. Kili flinched backwards, but there was nowhere he could go with the tree at his back and his hands tied, and Fili managed to get the coat tucked in around him without further protest. Then he sat back on his heels, his whole body sagging suddenly, as though he were a puppet and someone had cut his strings.

“Kili,” he said, quietly enough that Bilbo had to strain to hear it. “Why do you not know me?”

It was, Bilbo decided, quite enough. It was true that it had been a rather difficult two days, especially for Fili (although Bilbo certainly didn't discount how difficult it had been for himself, what with all the running from orcs and being attacked by people's long-lost relatives), but if there was one thing Bilbo was sure of, it was that he could not allow Fili to break down now, when they were still far from safety and he was the only one who had any chance of fending off whatever might come out of the darkness. No. What the lad needed was something to do.

“Master Fili,” he said. “We'll need some food.”

Fili didn't acknowledge him, his eyes fixed on his brother's face. Bilbo sighed and tried again, tugging on Fili's sleeve.

“Master Fili,” he said, trying not to sound too frustrated. “Your brother needs to eat.”

It seemed those were the magic words: Fili turned and looked at him, and then shook his head.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course. There must be rabbits...” He stood and glanced around, as if expecting a rabbit to hop out of the darkness and present itself to him, then looked back at his brother, fists opening and closing at his sides.

“Go,” Bilbo said, shifting closer to Kili, although really it was the last thing he wanted to do. “I'll watch over him.”

Fili eyed him with a worried frown. “You're sure?” he said.

Bilbo drew his sword and laid it across his lap. “If it starts to glow, I'll call,” he said.

Fili stood still for a moment, glancing from Bilbo to Kili and back again. Finally, he seemed to make a decision, squaring his shoulders and drawing one of his swords. Kili started back, head snapping up and eyes going wide, and without thinking Bilbo reached out a hand to soothe him, pressing gently against his shoulder. Kili's frame was tense under his touch, but he did not jerk away.

Slowly, Fili laid the sword on the ground in front of Bilbo and stepped back. “I won't go far,” he promised, and disappeared into the night.

Bilbo examined the sword. It was, of course, too long for him to wield effectively, even if he had been a swordsman, which he certainly was not. “Dwarves,” he muttered to himself, and then became aware that he was being watched. He glanced sideways to find Kili's wide-eyed stare on him, the whites of his eyes oddly disconcerting in his still sooty face. Bilbo shuffled away, withdrawing his hand from Kili's shoulder. Kili watched him go. Bilbo tried very hard not to be disturbed by it. It was really just that it was dark, he told himself, and not at all that there was murder in those eyes. After all, he was a dwarf, in the end, and not an orc at all, no matter how much he might act like one.

The minutes ticked by, and Bilbo found himself less and less able to think of anything other than the predicament they were in. The continuing awareness of Kili's black-eyed stare didn't help matters, although Bilbo did his best not to look in that direction. It was full dark now, but there was a moon, and enough light to see that the little dwarf-thing was still looking at him every time he glanced over. So he stopped glancing.

“You know,” he said, finally, “I do wonder sometimes what my cousin Lobelia would think of all this.” He stood up, hooking his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and revolving on his heels, staring up at the starry sky. “Me, out here, having adventures with dwarves and orcs. I'm sure she'd think I was quite mad.” He paused, glancing over at Kili. The dwarf was still looking at him, but somehow it didn't quite send shivers down Bilbo's spine as it had before. “Perhaps I am mad,” he mused, looking up again. The stars were clearer than he'd ever seen them before, even in Rivendell, and Bilbo thought of the elf-songs he'd read and heard and how even they could not capture the wonder of it all.

And here he was, with a lost little dwarf who'd apparently been thought dead by everyone who loved him, and who had certainly been through far more than Bilbo himself could ever dream of. Bilbo thought his way through all the facts and hints that he had in his hands, and although there was still a great deal that was shadowy and secret about what had happened to Kili, he realised for the first time what the magnitude of it must have been. For surely the dwarf must have been normal, once, or his brother would not be so distraught over the change in him. For the first time, Bilbo felt a twinge of pity in amongst the unease and fear -- yes, there was certainly fear -- that constituted his feelings towards the little dwarf-thing.

“Oh, how do I get myself into these things?” he muttered to himself, and then turned to face Kili, crouching so that the dwarf could look at him without craning his neck.

“My name is Bilbo Baggins,” he said. “I'm a friend of your brother's. At your service,” he added, since it seemed that that was how dwarves introduced themselves, although he was sure he did not wish to be at this particular dwarf's service.

Kili just stared at him, unblinking.

Bilbo tried again, laying his hand on his chest. “Bilbo,” he said, carefully and slowly, making sure to say all the sounds as clearly as he could. He pointed at Kili. “Kili,” he said, and then back at himself. “Bilbo.”

Kili looked away and said something in Black Speech. It was only a few words at most, but it was enough to make Bilbo's skin crawl, and he sat back on his heels and ran his hands through his hair.

It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

After the failure of his attempt to communicate with Kili, Bilbo passed the time until Fili arrived back talking to himself. Talking made him feel a little better, and since his choice of conversational partners was rather limited, he resolved to do what he could with what he had available. He sat a few feet away from the tree where Kili was tied, his little sword across his knees and Fili's laid out before him, and looked up at the stars, telling himself that it was just a lovely night out, away from home, an adventure and no mistake.

“Bilbo, my lad,” he said, “it's a fine night to be camping under the sky. Finer still once dinner arrives. Look, Earendil sails across the sky! I somehow always feel safer to know he is watching over me.”

Talking certainly made Bilbo feel better, but it did not completely vanquish his feelings of unease. He knew without looking that Kili had resumed his silent staring, and wished uncomfortably that he would go back to hanging his head and fixing his eyes on the ground as he had for most of the day. Bilbo could not understand what he had done to merit this fixed attention, but he was sure that it meant nothing good. As time stretched on and Fili still did not return, Bilbo became unpleasantly aware that his voice was taking on a slightly high-pitched note, and that he was talking faster than seemed necessary. His nerves felt scraped raw by the feel of eyes on him.

“Who are you talking to?” came Fili's voice from the darkness, and Bilbo almost swallowed his own tongue in surprise. Fili emerged, two rabbits swinging from one hand and a bowl in the other. “Mr. Baggins?” he asked, glancing at Kili. “Were you talking to my brother?”

“Why would I do that?” Bilbo snapped. “He wouldn't understand anything I say. Those orcs have chased all the wits from his head.”

He was sorry before he'd even finished speaking the words, but of course it is all very well to regret what you have done but very much harder to un-do it. Fili had stopped still in the middle of the hollow, the only movement now the rabbits still swinging slightly. His face was shadowed, turned away from the moon, and Bilbo could not see his expression.

“Master Fili,” he started. “I didn't mean--”

“I know very well what you meant, master hobbit,” Fili said. He did not sound angry, just exhausted. “But you are wrong. I know you are wrong.”

He laid the rabbits down and went to his brother. Bilbo went, too, trailing behind and hoping that Fili was quicker to forgive than his uncle.

Kili had dropped his head again, Bilbo saw with some relief, those wide, disconcerting eyes hidden beneath the fall of his hair. He made no move as Fili approached, but seemed to press himself backwards into the tree when his brother knelt before him and raised the bowl towards his lips.

“Drink, brother,” Fili said, but Kili turned his face away. “It is only water,” Fili said. “It will make you feel better.” But still Kili refused, turning his head so far from Fili that it must have strained his neck.

Fili sat back on his heels. “Why do you not look at me?” he asked, and laid the bowl aside, reaching out a hand to grasp his brother's face. Kili flinched back violently at the first brush of Fili's fingers on his chin, but even when Fili lifted his head and turned it back to face him, Kili's eyes were fixed determinedly on the ground. 

Bilbo turned away, feeling that he was intruding on something not meant for him. Two days ago he had barely known this young dwarf, and now he wished that it could have been someone else here with him, someone who at least knew him, someone who had known his brother when he had still been whatever it was Fili was looking for. Any one of the dwarves would have done, for Bilbo was sure all of them had known each other for many years. And yet, here he was instead, the only stranger in the company. He had slipped out after Fili two endless days ago because he thought he might be able to help. But calling warnings and laying false trails was one thing -- this was quite another.

He looked up at the moon, trying not to listen to Fili's strained voice asking his brother to drink, over and over. Eventually, though, it grew too much for Bilbo to bear, and he turned back, kneeling on the cool grass beside Fili.

“I'd like to help,” he said. “If I can.”

Fili paused in his recitation, pulling the water bowl from his brother's closed lips. “I am glad,” he said.

Bilbo nodded. He was glad, too, if the merest lightening of the sick feeling he had had all day could be called gladness. “I don't know what I can do, though,” he said. 

Fili glanced from the bowl in his hands to his brother, and then back to Bilbo. “He will not take it from me, that's clear enough,” he said. “But he must drink. Perhaps--” He paused, as if reluctant to say whatever was in his thoughts. “Perhaps he will trust you better,” he said finally, as though with some effort, and held the bowl out to Bilbo.

Bilbo raised his hands. “Oh, no,” he said. “Surely you don't think such a thing.” The very idea was absurd, not to mention it involved Bilbo getting far closer than he wished to Kili's hard eyes and sharp teeth.

“I hope--” Fili said, and then seemed to shrink into himself a little, as he had the day he had told Bilbo he had no brother. “I only want him to drink,” he said. “Please, Mr. Baggins. Will you at least try?”

Bilbo could hardly say no, not when he had offered to help. And it was, after all, only a small thing. He took the bowl from Fili and squared his shoulders, edging forwards until he could reach out and place it to Kili's lips.

“Drink, master dwarf,” he said. “If you're too weak to run tomorrow, the orcs will eat you, and me and your brother with you.”

Kili's eyes flicked up for just a moment, like little black stones in the darkness. Bilbo felt as though they were tunnelling into his soul. Then the little dwarf glanced sideways at his brother and back to the ground. But he did not turn his face away.

A cold feeling crept into Bilbo's heart. Perhaps Fili was right. As absurd as it sounded, perhaps Kili would obey him, nothing but a stranger, where he refused to even acknowledge his own kin. He wished it were not so, but if it was -- If it was, then he had offered to help, and it was his duty to do all he could.

He cleared his throat. “Master Fili,” he said. “I wonder if you would mind moving back a bit? Perhaps he's feeling a little crowded.”

Fili, sitting on his heels in the grass, said nothing for a long moment. Then he nodded and climbed to his feet, walking with deliberate steps until he was lost in the shadow of the trees. Bilbo watched him go.

“Don't go far,” he muttered, and then turned back to Kili.

“Now,” he said. “Will you drink, you wretched creature? Or will we have to duck you in the river again to get some water into you?”

Kili raised his eyes from the ground, staring in the direction his brother had disappeared, and then looking back at Bilbo. Bilbo tipped the bowl a little, a few drops of water spilling down Kili's cheeks.

And Kili drank.

It was just a sip at first, so little that Bilbo thought he might just be imagining it. But then the sip became a swallow, and the swallow became a gulp, and then Bilbo could hardly tip the bowl fast enough to slake Kili's thirst. He drank as though he had been thirsty since the day he was born, and Bilbo found himself wondering just what it was that orcs drank and when was the last time the little dwarf had had good, simple water.

When the bowl was empty, Bilbo laid it down beside him. He did not miss the way Kili's eyes followed it, nor did he miss the way the little dwarf had begun to tremble, just a little, barely enough to make out in the moonlight. All of a sudden, there seemed nothing of the hard darkness that had made Bilbo so uneasy. There was only a shrunken little thing who wanted nothing more than a drink of water.

“Master Fili,” Bilbo called quietly, and moments later Fili appeared, boots thudding softly across the grass. Kili dropped his eyes immediately, but the tremors still shook his shoulders. 

“I think he wants some more,” Bilbo said, holding out the bowl. Fili stared down at it and then reached out and gripped it with both hands.

“Did he drink?” he said wonderingly. “Truly?”

“Truly, and copiously!” Bilbo said, and was rewarded with a smile that made him feel as though all of this had been worth it. Fili shifted one hand to grip Bilbo's where he still held the bowl.

“Thank you, master hobbit,” he said. “You have saved my brother's life again. I won't forget it.”

Bilbo could not help but smile back, and then Fili stepped back into the darkness, taking the bowl with him.

“Well,” Bilbo said. “The two of you are quite a handful.”

He looked back to see that Kili was staring at him, and instead of glancing away, Bilbo stared right back.

“Whatever it is you're looking for, you're not going to find it in me,” he said. “You should be looking at your brother. It seems he would do anything for you.”

Kili just stared. Bilbo sighed. “You certainly have the stubbornness of dwarves,” he said.

“More than most,” Fili said, reappearing and holding the now-full bowl out to Bilbo. “Isn't that so, brother?”

But Kili had dropped his head, staring at the ground. Bilbo sighed, taking the bowl.

“It doesn't mean anything,” he said to Fili. But when he looked round, the young dwarf had already melted away. Sighing again, Bilbo took the bowl and lifted it to Kili's lips.

“You know, he wants nothing more than to help you,” he said, tipping the bowl. Kili strained forward, gagging slightly as some of the water caught in his throat, and Bilbo put a hand on the back of his neck.

“Not too fast, master dwarf,” he said. “We don't want to see it come back up.” 

Kili's eyes flicked to him, then back to the bowl. Bilbo, meanwhile, found himself frowning, trying to understand what he felt under his fingers. There was the iron collar that sat snug around the dwarf's neck, certainly, but there were odd lumps on the back of it. Bilbo let his fingers follow the lumps down, until his hand was able to wrap around something thick and rough-feeling, warm from the heat of Kili's back.

A chain.

Meaning only to understand what his fingers felt, Bilbo tugged gently on the chain. He should probably have guessed that such an action would not have entirely pleasant results, but the quick fingers of hobbits are sometimes a little too quick for their brains to keep up. Kili made a choking sound and abruptly stopped drinking, the water running down his cheeks and over his chest until Bilbo hastily lowered the bowl and just as hastily pulled his fingers from the chain. Kili's head was lowering, eyes finding the floor, and Bilbo felt the tiny flame of victory that had lit in him with Fili's smile begin to sputter and die.

“No, no,” he said, laying the bowl down and putting a hand on Kili's arm. “No you don't, Master Kili. I didn't mean to touch it, and I won't touch it again.”

Kili was still, his head halfway down, as if he was trying to decide something. Bilbo saw his eyes dart sideways, peering at the hobbit from under his hair. Bilbo raised his empty hands.

“I won't,” he said. “I won't do anything to hurt you.” _As long as you don't do anything to hurt me_ , he privately added.

Kili sank back a little against the tree. He was staring at Bilbo again, but less openly now, keeping his face half-hidden. Bilbo sighed and patted him on the shoulder, trying not to think too hard about the heavy, rusty chain concealed under the little dwarf's ragged clothes. 

“We won't tell your brother about it,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. I think he has enough to worry about.”

\----

 

Fili was tending a little fire when Bilbo made his way over. It was set in a hearth of upright stones dug into the earth, and the light was barely visible unless you knew it was there. For all their frustrations, dwarves were certainly ingenious at times.

“Well, he's not about to die of thirst, anyway,” said Bilbo, seating himself on the ground across from Fili. 

Fili nodded. “I am grateful, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said, feeling a little flustered. “I'm sure there's no need. After all, I've no doubt you'd rather be helping him yourself.”

It was another thing said wrong, and Bilbo cursed his own thoughtless tongue as he saw the shadows deepen on Fili's face. 

“That I would,” was all the young dwarf said, but the tone in which he said it was rich with regret.

Bilbo sighed. “He's--” He stopped, because he honestly had very little idea of how to continue. He wanted to reassure Fili that all this would pass, but he knew the words would be hollow, and Fili no doubt knew it, too. Instead, he settled for changing the subject. “Do you think there are more orcs out there?”

Fili settled the rabbits over the fire. “No doubt,” he said, as if the matter was not of the least concern to him.

“I see.” Bilbo pondered the ground for a moment or two. “And if they should find us?” 

Fili looked up, his eyes flashing in the firelight, and the look on his face had Bilbo shivering despite the heat from the flames. “They will wish they hadn't,” he said. 

\----

None of them slept. Bilbo certainly tried, and the ground was soft enough certainly compared to some nights he'd spent since joining the company. But the strangeness of it all, the quietness after weeks of travelling with a pack of boisterous, snoring, food-flinging dwarves, made it oddly difficult for him to doze off. It was just his luck to finally get used to the constant racket only to find himself lost in the wilderness with the quietest dwarf in the company and his brother who could only speak in a tongue that no-one cared to hear. Some time after midnight, he found himself watching the stars wheeling overhead rather than even pretending to keep his eyes shut, and at last he turned to see Fili still sitting by the fire, gazing morosely into the flames.

“You should try and sleep,” Fili said without looking his way. “Tomorrow will not be an easy day.”

“It seems like no day is easy amongst dwarves,” Bilbo said, although it wasn't true. There had been days -- days in Rivendell, and days of slow travelling and no orcs or goblins to speak of -- that he looked back on now with something like fondness.

Fili sighed. “No day has been easy for the children of Thror for many a long year,” he said, and glanced over to where his brother sat, still tucked under Fili's coat at the base of the tree. Kili's eyes were lowered, but they were open -- apparently he was finding it no easier to sleep than the other two. Fili looked back into the fire. “And I fear there is only worse to come,” he said.

Bilbo sat up properly, giving up all hope of rest. “You haven't told me what happened,” he said. Last night he had dismissed it as none of his business, but now that whatever had happened had resulted in them keeping company with a creature that seemed half fell beast and half pitiful wretch, Bilbo felt that perhaps it was his business after all.

“I suppose I owe you that much, and more,” Fili said, but he seemed in no hurry to tell the tale. He watched the fire for some moments, until Bilbo wondered if he had lost his tongue.

But finally, Fili spoke. He did not look at Bilbo, and his voice seemed to come from far away. “We were travelling in the Blue Mountains,” he said. “We have always been travelling, looking for work, looking for our home, looking for--” he broke off. “But in those days, we just wanted to make enough money to keep ourselves fed. There were nine of us, two families, and we had Thorin and Dwalin with us. We hadn't heard of any trouble and we thought that would be enough.” He shook his head. “When the orcs came -- there were so many of them. I tried to keep Kili with me, I tried to fight them, but he was ill, feverish with something, and--” He raised his hand to cover his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to see the memories dancing in the fire. “I lost him,” he said, the words seemingly pulled from some deep well of grief. “I lost my brother.”

Now that he was listening to it, Bilbo realised he no longer wanted to know the details, certainly not if it was going to cause such pain to his companion. It was clear enough -- the orcs had taken Kili and his kin had understandably assumed he was dead. And instead of killing him, they had turned him into the poor creature that now sat a few feet away, eyes downcast but not asleep. Oh, there was pity indeed, both for the lost brother and for the one who had lost him! Bilbo could not imagine what months alone with those foul creatures could do to a soul -- but he did not need to imagine it, for he had seen it with his own eyes.

“How long ago did this happen?” he asked.

Fili gave a deep groan and took his hand from his eyes. There were tears on his cheeks, Bilbo saw, and he looked away out of kindness, but Fili's next words made him look back, startled.

“Twenty-five years, master hobbit,” said Fili. “It has been twenty-five years.”

“I'm sorry,” Bilbo said. “Did you say _years_?”

Fili didn't answer, but Bilbo turned to look at Kili and found those black eyes watching him again. Twenty-five years.

It was a wonder there was anything left of him at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Dawn was grey in the sky when Bilbo awoke from the doze that had finally claimed him. He sat up, thinking for a moment that this was just a normal day, out on the trail with the company, and wondering at the quietness of a camp filled with rousing dwarves. Then he remembered, and shook off a creeping shiver. To think that his life had come to such that sleeping rough with dwarves seemed normal by comparison!

Fili slept restlessly on the other side of the dying fire, still half sitting up as if sleep had caught him by surprise. There was a frown on his face, and his hands clenched by his sides. Bilbo did not need to think long to imagine what he was dreaming about.

At the back of the hollow, their prisoner -- for such he was, in a way -- sat silent and still with his back to the spreading pine tree. He alone seemed not to have slept at all, his eyes little more than shadows in his face as Bilbo cautiously approached.

“Well,” Bilbo said softly, mindful to let Fili sleep on if he could, regardless of how fretful that sleep might be. “And how are we feeling this morning, my lad?”

Kili watched him intently as before. It was less disturbing than it had been in the dark, although Bilbo still felt a twinge of unease. He settled himself beside the little dwarf and sighed.

“No better than the rest of us, I'll wager,” he said. “Or worse. Being tied to a tree all night can't be restful. Although I suppose it's probably better than sleeping with a pack of orcs.” 

He paused, for it seemed to him that Kili's lips were moving. “What's that?” he said. “Were you trying to say something?”

Kili mouthed something, but there was no sound, and Bilbo could not make it out from the movement of his lips alone. “Could you say it again?” he asked.

It seemed for a moment as though Kili was trying, a deep line appearing between his eyes as he moved his lips soundlessly. But Bilbo couldn't decipher it, and finally Kili let out his breath and said something short and ugly in Black Speech. Bilbo cringed a little, although he tried not to.

“At least we know you're not completely witless,” he said. It felt like cold comfort -- would it not almost be better if the little dwarf couldn't speak at all? -- but Bilbo was a hobbit, and hobbits are second to none in finding hope wherever they can.

“We should move,” came Fili's low voice, and Bilbo saw that he had awoken and was on his feet, standing by the remains of the fire as if he dared not come any closer. “I do not want to spend another night out here.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Bilbo said. Beorn's house, with its honey and warmth and excess of bees, seemed almost like a dream after everything that had happened. He hoped that the company were still there, waiting for them.

Fili nodded and stumped over to the tree, faltering only for an instant when Kili cringed away from him. He cut the rope binding his brother and stood back, his face taking on an unhappy cast.

“Master hobbit, if you please,” he said. “I think my brother would prefer if I do not touch him.”

“That's ridiculous,” Bilbo said, even though it was not.

Fili seemed like he hadn't heard him. “Mr. Baggins,” he said. “Please.”

And so Bilbo found himself trying to help Kili to his feet. Had it been any other dwarf, it would surely have been an impossible task, but Kili, though taller than Bilbo, seemed to weigh barely more than a hobbitling, and Bilbo, expecting there to be more resistance, pulled him up harder and faster than he intended to. Kili staggered sideways -- no doubt his legs were stiff after his night sitting upright -- and Fili jumped forward, catching at his brother's other arm.

Kili pulled back, but Fili had him caught, and seemed in no mood to let go. He was frowning, pulling Kili's filthy sleeve up. 

“What's this?” he said, all thoughts of not touching his brother apparently gone from his head. Bilbo craned his neck and saw a mess of dried blood across Kili's forearm, and it took but a moment for him to remember how it had got there.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, I cut him! I cut him when he attacked me.” His heart sank as he thought how it was the blood from that wound that had told him that Kili was no orc -- that had saved Kili's life from Fili's swords -- and yet he had forgotten it entirely until now.

Fili had never known about the wound at all, if the strangled noise he made was anything to go by. His knife flashed, and in a moment Kili's arms were free, one still gripped by Bilbo, the other pulled forward by Fili, who seemed barely to notice how Kili tried to pull away.

“You did this?” Fili asked, looking up at Bilbo with an expression that reminded him of nothing so much as his uncle in one of his most intimidating moods. Bilbo fell back a step, loosing his grip on Kili's arm. Kili threw him a quick look that seemed almost panicked and tried again to pull away from his brother, but Fili held firm.

“Water, Mr. Baggins,” he snapped, and Bilbo was all too happy to hurry away to the stream and hope that by the time he returned, Fili would be less like Thorin and more like himself.

When he got back, water in hand, Fili was pulling Kili's other sleeve up, running his hands up and down Kili's arm as if to check for more damage. Kili stood silent, head hanging, but his jaw was clenched tight and his thin shoulders rigid with tension. He twitched when he saw Bilbo coming, and he seemed to be moving his lips again. There was no time to investigate, however, for Fili had other plans.

“Hold him,” he said to Bilbo, and Bilbo carefully laid the water bowl aside and took hold of Kili's uninjured arm. Fili grabbed the hem of his brother's ragged shirt and began to lift it. He got no further, though, for Kili went from hunched and tense to scratching and biting in an instant, wrenching his arm from Bilbo's grasp and flinging himself backwards. Such a light creature should not have been enough to knock down a dwarf as sturdy as Fili, but the speed and abruptness of the attack were enough to throw him off balance, and before he had regained it, Kili was away, sprinting across the hollow without glancing back. 

This time, Bilbo didn't spare a second thought before giving chase. Once again, though, he was beaten to the quarry by Fili, the young dwarf catching up with his brother before he had even reached the circle of trees that edged their hideout. Tackled to the ground for the third time in less than two days, Kili kicked and snarled, clawing at the ground and trying to repeat his trick from the day before of crawling out from under his assailant. Fili had learnt, though, and as Bilbo arrived, out of breath and panting, he was sitting heavily on his brother, ignoring his flailing arms and dragging his shirt up over his back.

What he saw there made his eyes grow round and a curse fall from his lips.

“Oh,” Fili said. “Oh, no, my brother.”

Bilbo, catching his breath, crept closer and saw, below the thick, rusty chain that snaked across Kili's back, that there was not an inch of smooth skin to be seen. Scars twisted, thick and rope-like, thin and pale. Some were old and faded, some still red and angry, one or two perhaps still healing. In amongst them, carved across Kili's back from shoulder to shoulder, was a series of marks, sharp and angular. They looked old, long since healed, but thick and deep enough to be raised and clear even now. 

“Save us all,” Bilbo whispered. Twenty-five years with orcs, of course, twenty-five years, but even so Bilbo had not imagined--

“Forgive me,” Fili said, his reaching out a hand to his brother's back, but stopping short as if he did not dare to touch it. “I didn't know. I didn't know.” He seemed lost in a world of his own, eyes still wide in horror. But Bilbo, though horrified himself of course, was not so lost, and he saw that Fili was not the only one who was caught up in terror. Kili, flat on the ground, was breathing in short, ragged bursts, his eyes wide and darting, fingers scrabbling at the turf.

“Master Fili,” Bilbo said, but Fili was frozen, staring. Bilbo reached out and tugged on his arm. “Master Fili,” he said again, trying to inject some urgency into his tone. 

Fili turned then to look at him, and Bilbo rather wished he hadn't. Grief he had known himself in the past, with the deaths of his parents of course and others who had passed on from their simple life in the Shire. But he had seen nothing that could prepare him for the look on Fili's face, and perhaps if it had all been that simple, he might have let the poor lad have his moment, maybe even embraced him. But nothing was ever that simple any more, or so it seemed to Bilbo.

“You're scaring him,” he said.

At first it seemed as though Fili didn't understand Bilbo's words -- and that would not do at all, for Bilbo could barely cope with one addle-headed dwarf, let alone two -- but then Bilbo nodded his head at Kili, still choking in the grass, and Fili followed his nod and blanched, starting to get to his feet. He made it only halfway before Kili slid out from under him and twisted, kicking out with his bare foot and catching Fili in the stomach. Fili sprawled back, seeming to have lost all his ability to keep his feet, and Kili was up and away, apparently realising only too late that he was heading for the steep back wall of the hollow. He turned on his heel, backing up against the rocky slope. His hair was wild, his eyes wilder, darting from Bilbo to Fili and all points between.

Bilbo stood with his hands raised. “Now, now,” he said. “We won't hurt you.” He had said as much before, of course, but he could not say he had kept his promise. They had not intended to hurt the little dwarf, though, and that had to count for something.

Fili still lay half-sprawled, propped up on one elbow. He reached a hand towards his brother. “Kili, please,” he said.

Kili rounded on him then, Black Speech spilling from his mouth like foul water. The sound roiled and gurgled across the hollow, and every word seemed to buffet Fili like a blow. Even Bilbo lifted his hands higher, as though they might be able to shield him from it. He was so focussed on the loathsomeness of it, so relieved when the torrent of words finally ended, that it took him a moment to realise that Kili was scrambling up the near-vertical slope at the back of the hollow, fingers and toes barely clinging to the thin soil. His brother, meanwhile, merely lay on the grass, as if his legs had been cut from under him.

“Mr. Kili!” Bilbo called, running to the base of the slope and searching for some kind of foothold. “Mr. Kili, no!” But the little dwarf had already reached the top and disappeared from sight, and when Bilbo reached almost halfway, the earth gave way beneath him and he slithered back to the bottom, gaining some nasty bumps and bruises on the way. By then there was neither sight nor sound of Kili, and still Fili lay and stared and did nothing.

Bilbo rushed over to him. “You're not hurt?” he asked, although he had seen Kili's kick and knew that it could not have been enough to hurt a healthy dwarf like Fili.

Fili clutched at Bilbo's arm hard enough to make him wince. “I've lost him,” he said. “Mahal forgive me, I've lost my brother.”

Bilbo sat down hard on the grass. The sun was barely risen, and yet he felt as though he had been awake for days. Confound these dwarves, who had managed to lull him into a false sense of security with their cheerfulness and apparent lack of anything resembling sensible fear in the face of danger! He had been promised dragons and gold and adventure, and now, when it was too late for him to extricate himself, he had managed to walk right into the middle of something else entirely, something that posed no threat to his body, perhaps, but that threatened to break his poor soft hobbit heart. This was no adventure, but only tragedy and ruin, and he swore that he and Gandalf would have words if he ever made it back to Beorn's alive.

In the meantime, though, he had a dwarf to deal with, since apparently he was the only one with enough sense to even be thinking about how to get them back to safety. They could, of course, leave Kili to himself and make for Beorn's alone, but Bilbo dismissed the idea before it had fully formed in his mind. Fili would certainly never agree to it, and even Bilbo, rather despite himself, felt a little sick at the idea of abandoning the little dwarf to the wildlands. That, then, left one option only: they would have to catch him.

“Now, master dwarf,” Bilbo said, getting to his feet and doing his best to tower over Fili. “That is not true, as you well know. You have not lost your brother at all -- in fact, you have found him. But if you don't go after him, you will lose him indeed, and this time whatever finds him may not choose to keep him alive.” He grasped Fili by the shoulders and tugged as hard as he could. “Come on, get up! I can't catch him by myself!”

Whether it was the tugging or the words that did it, Fili rose to his feet, seeming to draw the threads of himself together as Bilbo watched. He closed his eyes, drew a breath, and then turned towards the place where his brother had climbed, spider-like, out of their reach. 

“We cannot follow him that way,” he said. “We'll have to go around.” 

And without more words, he was moving, and Bilbo had to jog to catch up.

\----

The single-mindedness of dwarves was something that Bilbo never would have suspected when they were flinging his mother's dishes across his kitchen, singing and acting the fool. Then, he had thought dwarves nothing but a disconcerting, irritating disaster plaguing him for no reason that he could make out, like a dreadful storm or a landslide. 

And then, of course, he had met Thorin Oakenshield.

Later, he had found that all the dwarves had something of Thorin in themselves. They might laugh and sing, certainly, they might even throw dishes every now and again, but underneath it all they all looked towards one goal, one thing that was important enough to them to leave hearth and home and comfort and venture out into the world to seek out the very dangers that most folk would do everything they could to avoid. Bilbo had thought he understood it, when he had realised how he longed for his own home. But now, trailing Fili through the forest as he examined every inch of the ground for any sign of his brother, he thought that he had been wrong, or at least, he had not had the whole truth of it. For the dwarves longed for their home, to be sure, but in the set of Fili's face and the firmness of his step Bilbo saw his uncle, and he thought that all one needed to do was set a dwarf a task and they would see nothing else until it was done. 

The single-mindedness of dwarves, and of one dwarf family in particular.

“Here,” Fili said, kneeling on the thick carpet of pine needles and examining the ground. “He came through here.”

Without another word or a glance at Bilbo, he regained his feet and marched on. Bilbo followed behind. He certainly wasn't unhappy that Fili seemed so easily recovered from his moment of horror at the hollow -- certainly not -- but all the same, it felt oddly as though he was walking with a stranger, and that was rather disconcerting.

“Those markings on his back,” he said, jogging a little so he could walk abreast with Fili. “Did you recognise them? Perhaps they can tell us where he might go.”

It was little hope, and really Bilbo had only mentioned it to have something to say, but Fili's mood became more grim, if anything.

“They are dwarvish letters,” he said. “But the words were in no tongue I know.”

 _Letters_ , Bilbo thought. _Words_. Of course, of course that was what they had been. And yet, the thought of it was somehow so much more terrible than the idea of mere markings, as if the cuts would have hurt more because whoever made them was carving words on Kili's back. Words in dwarvish letters, so that his kin could read them if they ever found--

Bilbo decided that thinking about the various things that might or might not happen to an orc prisoner in twenty-five years was not going to improve matters one whit. Unfortunately, he had the feeling that he was not the only one turning such things over in his mind.

They walked in silence into the height of the morning. Bilbo, after his last attempt at conversation, had decided simply to let Fili be. If the young dwarf could keep his head until they were all safe -- relatively speaking -- at Beorn's, then that would be good enough for Bilbo, and if he chose to do so by imitating his uncle, well, Bilbo supposed there were worse ways of coping (though undoubtedly not many). At any rate, asking him questions that would make him think about what his brother had suffered was unlikely to help, and Bilbo could think of no other conversation, so silence it would have to be.

As midday approached, though, he began to feel a growing unease -- more even than the general unease that came with being lost out in the wildlands. He had hoped that by now they would be halfway back to Beorn's, and yet, here they were, moving in who knew what direction and for who knew how long. Kili was leading them a merry chase indeed, and he was running while Bilbo and Fili were walking and pausing often to inspect the trail. It was more than likely that the gap between them was growing rather than shrinking, and Bilbo found himself beginning to wonder what they would do if they hadn't found the little dwarf by nightfall. 

In the event, though, his worries were unfounded, for it was still lacking an hour of midday when Fili put a hand out to stop Bilbo's progress and raised a finger to his lips. Bilbo froze, and through the general woody sounds of sighing trees and twittering birds, he heard the rumble of voices.

 _Orcs_ , mouthed Fili, and stepped closer. Bilbo followed behind, wondering if there would ever again come a day that did not bring orcs with it. But when they got close enough to see what the orcs were doing, all such thoughts fled from his head.

Two sat laughing on the ground, their voices crude with coarse delight. The third stood, holding his hand high above his head. In it he held the end of a chain, and from the other end, feet kicking uselessly more than a handspan above the ground, dangled Kili.


	6. Chapter 6

When, seated by his cosy hearth with a book in his hand and a good, warm dinner in his stomach, Bilbo Baggins had imagined what adventures must be like, he had thought of elf-song and mountains and deep, mysterious forests. He had thought of great and beautiful cities and warriors with shining swords that never rusted or grew sticky with blood. He had thought, in short, of fairy stories. What he had not thought of was aching bones and short rations, nameless terrors in the dark under mountains, death waiting always to snatch at him and his companions. What he had not thought of was trying to hold back a young lad who was watching his brother slowly murdered before his eyes.

“Don't -- don't!” he whispered, gripping Fili's arms with strength that came from he knew not where. “You'll die and then he'll die just as surely. I cannot save him from the orcs!”

Fili turned to him, a desperate fury on his face. “Let go of me, master hobbit,” he spat, “or you will see just what it is to anger a dwarf.” 

Bilbo felt he had angered enough dwarves in the last few weeks to be an expert on the subject. He shook his head and pointed into the clearing, where Kili still hung from his chain, hands clawing at his throat.

“I'll distract them,” he said. “Otherwise you've no chance. Wait for me.” He held up a hand. “ _Wait_.”

He did not stop to see if Fili would obey him -- and if he did not, Bilbo knew there was little chance of either brother surviving -- but slipped on the ring and took his sword in his hand, creeping around the edge of the clearing as silently as only a hobbit can. To his right, the orc crowed in Black Speech and shook Kili's chain, causing him to swing from side to side. The little dwarf made a thick, choking sound, and Bilbo closed his eyes and prayed that Fili would be able to restrain himself. To his relief, there was no roar of anger, no clash of steel, although Bilbo felt as though he could feel the murderous rage pooling in the clearing, waiting only for his signal to burst its banks and drown them all. 

When he reached the point he was aiming for, he turned and raised his sword, but fell back half a step, for he saw Kili give one last, feeble kick and fall still, dangling limply from the chain that the orc still clutched. He felt as though he had swallowed a stone -- he should have moved faster, could have moved faster -- but he glimpsed a flash of golden hair and knew that there was no time for regrets. Sprinting forward, he reached as high as he could and thrust his sword into the great orc's back. Letter-opener it might have been, but the orc threw up its head and roared in pain, loosing its grip on the chain. Kili's body fell to the ground in a heap, and Bilbo managed to pull his sword from the orc's back and duck under its flailing arm as it sought its unseen assailant. He skidded to his knees beside Kili, dimly aware that Fili had burst into the clearing with a roar of his own. 

Kili was lying on his side. His eyelids were half-open, but the eyes showed only white, and Bilbo's hands shook a little as he lowered his ear to the little dwarf's mouth. There was no sound, no breath, and Bilbo felt a sob rise in his throat. To save the wretched creature from such a dreadful fate, only to lose him immediately! It could not be borne, and Bilbo would not bear it. He swallowed his terror and grasped the little dwarf by the shoulders, shaking him firmly.

“Come on now,” he said. “Come on now, it won't do!”

Kili did not respond, and Bilbo chanced a glance at Fili, who stood at the centre of a whirlwind of steel and blood. What would he say, if Bilbo could not return his brother to him? It didn't bear thinking about.

“Wake up!” Bilbo cried, finding new strength in himself and shaking Kili hard enough that he heard his teeth click together. “Wake up! Wake up!” 

And Kili twitched, gasped, and heaved in a great, choking breath, and then another.

Bilbo sat back on his heels, feeling as though all his bones had turned to water. He did not leave go of the little dwarf's shoulders, though, and when Kili's eyes slid open, he frowned and then started, scrabbling backwards like a crab. Bilbo realised almost too late that he was still wearing the ring, and he let go of Kili's shoulders and slipped it from his finger, raising his hands palms outwards.

“It's just me,” he said.

Kili's eyes grew huge in his face, and he scrambled back another few paces, chest still heaving for air. Bilbo crawled after him, keeping his head low, and grabbed him by the arm.

“You're better off with us, you know,” he said, dragging the little dwarf to his feet and pulling him into the undergrowth on the edge of the clearing. “We're much less likely to eat you.”

Kili said nothing, eyes still wide as he watched Bilbo as if thinking he might vanish again. _Well_ , thought Bilbo, _and maybe I will_. But he did not put the ring on again, just patted it in his pocket and turned to see how Fili was faring.

The young dwarf had made short work of the first orc, but still battled the other two. One was the one that Bilbo had injured, whose movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, black blood still oozing down its back. The other had taken a wound from Fili's sword, but was still fighting fit. Fili ducked under a vicious swing and came up blades flying, drawing a line of blood across the fitter orc's ribs, before spinning and dealing a blow to the more injured one that half severed its arm. The injured orc howled, grabbing at the wound, and Fili dropped and rolled out from between them, causing the other orc to charge headlong into its fellow, sending them both sprawling. Fili was on his feet in an instant, and with one swift blow the sluggish orc was dead, mouth gaping and dripping with blood. The last orc still lived, though, and struggled out from under its comrade, roaring with fury that was in no way abated.

Bilbo felt Kili shift beside him, and turned to see that the little dwarf's attention had gone from him to the battle. His breath still wheezed in his throat, and he shuddered under Bilbo's hand.

“It'll be all right,” Bilbo said, giving him a reassuring pat and trying to sound more definite than he felt. “Your brother's really very good at this.”

Fili's opponent had picked up a wicked-looking curved knife from somewhere, and he lunged forward with it, but Fili danced out of reach and then darted back in. The orc was cleverer than it looked, though, and where it had seemed to leave itself open to attack, it now pivoted and used its shoulder to jar Fili's arm, bringing up an elbow that caught him on the side of the head. A quick kick from an orcish boot, and one of Fili's swords went flying. The curved knife flashed, and Bilbo tensed, reaching for his own sword, for perhaps he was no fighter, but he would not stand by and watch his friend slaughtered. But Fili was no novice, and he regained his balance and ducked out from under the path of the blade, using the orc's own ponderous bulk to spin himself around until he stood at its back. The orc roared, turning, but Fili had already dealt it two swift slashes to the back and neck, and as it turned he thrust upwards, into the softness of its belly. Kili made a soft sound next to Bilbo and Bilbo gave him another pat. 

“There,” he said. “We'll be all right now.”

Fili pulled his sword from the stomach of the dead orc and wiped the black blood off on the grass. He stood, staring down, and Bilbo wondered for a moment if he would check their faces, looking for the murderer who, if Bilbo's surmise was correct, had turned out not to be a murderer after all. But Fili merely sheathed his sword and turned to his brother, who watched him with wide eyes.

“We must go before the smell of death attracts more of them,” he said, talking to Bilbo, so it seemed, but looking only at Kili. 

\----

They found an overhanging rock with a clear little spring bubbling up from under it, far enough from the dead orcs to feel safe, though still in the same forest. Fili stationed himself before it, sword in hand and eyes alert. Bilbo took Kili into the little shelter and pressed gently on his shoulders until he sat down.

“Now then, my lad,” Bilbo said. “Let's see what kind of state you're in.”

He cleaned the wound in Kili's forearm first, the best he could with only water and rags and no salve to be had. The blood was clotted and thick and it must have hurt as Bilbo tried to clean it away, but Kili made no sound, only watching as the skin slowly came clean. Bilbo dipped the rag in his water bowl and saw Kili's eyes on it, his lips moving again.

“What is it?” he said. “Have I hurt you?”

Kili looked up at him and then down at the bowl, the water darkened now with blood old and new. His lips moved.

“Water,” Bilbo said slowly. He lifted the bowl and showed it to Kili. “Is this what you want? Water?”

Kili frowned, mouth moving slowly around the sounds. _W_ , his lips said. _T_. _R_. _Wtr_. No sound came out, but Bilbo gave a cry of pleasure and clasped the little dwarf by the shoulder.

“Water!” he said. “Yes, my friend, water indeed! Water you shall have!” He held the bowl out, and after a moment's hesitation, Kili reached up a hand and took it. He kept his eyes on Bilbo, as if suspecting a trick, and raised the bowl towards his mouth, and then, of course, Bilbo realised his mistake, for in his excitement over the appearance of a word -- or something resembling one -- he had not considered what the little dwarf might want the water for.

“No!” he said, and snatched the bowl back, tipping the water quickly away. It sank, grainy and rust-coloured, into the dirt, and Kili dropped his hand and his head, folding into himself in an instant. 

Bilbo cursed himself for his thoughtlessness. “No,” he said again, to mean _I didn't mean it_ , but that only made Kili shrink a little more, and Bilbo closed his eyes. How had he, of all the beings in this world, come to be responsible for this task? He was no healer, either of the mind or the body. He could think of few people who would do more poorly than he was.

But his task it seemed to be, and Bilbo steeled himself and filled the bowl with clean water from the spring, then laid a gentle hand on Kili's shoulder and held the bowl before him.

“Come, now,” he said. “It was only because it was dirty.”

Kili made no move to take the bowl. In the shadow beneath the overhang, Bilbo couldn't even see if he was looking at it, or if he had fixed his eyes on the ground. Bilbo waited until he had not the patience to wait more, and then he carefully picked up Kili's hand where it hung by his side and brought it to the edge of the bowl.

“Water,” he said. “Water.”

It seemed as though the little dwarf would not take his offering, fingers remaining slack in Bilbo's, but then there was twitch in them, and a tension, and a firm grip. Kili's other hand came up, and his face, too, and he sat holding the bowl and staring at Bilbo as if he was trying to understand something intensely complex. 

“I'm sorry,” Bilbo said. “I didn't mean to scare you.” He let go of the bowl and gestured at it. “Water,” he said, slowly and clearly, and mimed drinking.

Slowly -- so slowly that at first Bilbo thought he might be imagining it -- Kili raised the bowl to his lips. He paused, eyes on Bilbo, as if waiting for him to repeat his earlier violent action. Bilbo smiled and nodded at him, and Kili waited a moment longer and then drank.

Bilbo felt as though something that had long been tightly coiled inside him had untwisted, just an inch. He smiled and smiled and nodded and nodded, smiled so hard his cheeks ached and nodded until he grew dizzy. He must have looked absurd, but there was no-one there to see it but a lost little dwarf who cared only for water and not a straw for absurdity. Kili did not take his eyes from Bilbo for a moment. In fact, he barely seemed to blink, and Bilbo found his own eyes watering in sympathy. But finally, he drained the last drop from the bowl and then paused before lowering the bowl to his chest and holding it hesitantly out towards Bilbo. Bilbo took it, taking care not to move too quickly.

“More?” Bilbo asked, miming drinking again and pointing at Kili. “Water?”

Kili looked around himself, then, at the little shelter, at the spring, at Fili standing guard. It was the first time Bilbo remembered seeing him simply look for the sake of looking, with none of the intensity that stirred such unease in Bilbo's belly. Were it not for the grimy face and the matted hair, the iron collar and ragged clothes, he might almost have been any other dwarf.

Bilbo was about to ask if he wanted more again when Kili raised his injured arm towards him and shook it slightly. Bilbo laughed.

“Well, I suppose that's an answer, of a sort,” he said. “Let's finish this up, then, shall we?”

The wound was almost clean already, and when he had finished with it and bound it in the cleanest cloth he could find, Bilbo sat back and considered how best to proceed. He could not help but remember how Kili had reacted to his brother trying to remove his shirt this morning, and he was not in the least eager to see such a display again. Nonetheless, it was entirely possible that there were injuries hidden beneath Kili's clothes -- if clothes they could be called -- and Bilbo knew that the consequences of ignoring them could be severe indeed. Finally, he leaned forward a little and rolled up one of his sleeves.

“Can you do this for me?” he said, and pointed at Kili's arm. Kili looked from Bilbo to his arm. He looked back at Bilbo and frowned. Bilbo unrolled his sleeve, then rolled it up again and pointed at Kili's arm, and this time, Kili seemed to understand, reaching for his own sleeve and rolling it carefully, eyeing Bilbo as he did so as if waiting for further instruction. Bilbo smiled and nodded -- his face still ached a little from his last round of smiling and nodding, but hobbits are hardy creatures when the need arises -- and then took Kili's wrist gently in his hand and turned the arm over, inspecting it for anything untoward. Scars there were aplenty, some that made Bilbo wish he could turn his eyes away, but no sign of anything fresh or dangerous. So Bilbo let go of Kili's wrist and rolled his own sleeve down, and Kili, watching carefully, followed suit.

Bilbo sat back on his heels and sighed. If only that had been the end of it. But there was worse to come, and no way to avoid it. He took off his waistcoat and waited until he was sure Kili was paying attention. Then he pulled his shirt over his head and pointed at Kili. 

Kili sat still enough that, had Bilbo not known he breathed, he might have thought him a statue. Bilbo swallowed down his desire to simply put his shirt back on and call the thing done. He had no wish to see the words carved into Kili's back again, and certainly no wish to see if there were answering words on his front. But he had promised Fili he would make sure the little dwarf was healthy, and it was a promise he meant to keep.

“Kili,” he said, and pointed to his own bare chest and then to Kili. “I won't hurt you.”

Kili's hands twitched in his lap, then clenched into fists. He stared at Bilbo hard enough that Bilbo recalled all the thoughts he had had about being murdered in his sleep, before he'd come to see the little dwarf as more to be pitied than feared. Perhaps, he thought, his first impressions had not been entirely wrong. All the same, he forced himself not to look away, and pointed again at his chest and then at Kili.

What he would have done if the little dwarf had refused his request he did not know, for he was in no mood to lose the little gains he had made in a wrestling match; but in the event there was no need, for Kili's fists loosened and clenched again, and then he dropped his head and tore his shirt over it in one motion, fast enough that it was over before Bilbo had even realised it had begun. He sat, breathing hard, filthy shirt clenched in one shaking hand, and stared determinedly at the ground.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, hoping that the tone would penetrate where the meaning would not. He leaned forward onto his knees, carefully examining Kili's chest and stomach, taking care not to come too close. The front of the little dwarf was as thick with scars as the back, although there were no obvious letters, to Bilbo's great relief. There were no new injuries, either, and as soon as Bilbo was sure of that, he rose to his feet hastily, hoping to end this ordeal sooner rather than later. As soon as he stood, though, Kili flinched away, a low noise caught in his throat. Bilbo paused, knees still half-bent. 

“It's all right,” he said.

It was clear, thought, that it was not in the least all right. Bilbo had never expected to see another person cowering before him, and yet there was no denying that that was what Kili was doing. He lowered himself slowly back to his knees.

“Well, I won't, then,” he said. “I won't stand up, you need not fear. I am only a little hobbit, see?” And he spread his arms, as if to show that there was very little of him indeed.

Kili eyed him through the tangled mass of hair that fell once again over his face. Bilbo looked back, smiling and nodding, smiling and nodding. At last, Kili straightened, though his head still hung and his shoulders still hunched. Bilbo nodded again, more decisively this time. 

“There's a good lad,” he said, restraining himself from patting the little dwarf on the shoulder. “Now, I'm just going to look at your back, you see? It'll be over before you know it.” And he shuffled round behind Kili on his knees, feeling equal parts ridiculous and horrified that such a thing was even necessary.

Kili's back looked no better in the gloom under the overhang than it had in the fresh morning sunlight. The scars still marched across it, the letters sharp and mocking. But there was nothing there that had not been there before, barring a few ugly bruises, and Bilbo breathed a little more easily and shuffled back around to face the little dwarf.

“There!” he said. “All done.” And he shrugged his shirt back on.

Kili's own shirt was over his head before Bilbo had even had the chance to point at him. The little dwarf huddled into it as though it offered some kind of protection, though it was so threadbare as to be almost more dirt than cloth. Bilbo sighed and tentatively patted Kili's arm.

“Almost done,” he said, and rolled up his right trouser leg.

\----

In the end, Bilbo found no new major injuries, although he saw many signs of old ones. He did, however, uncover the cause of Kili's limping: his left knee was misshapen, as if it had been broken at some time in the past and never set correctly. Bilbo tutted over it, but there was nothing to be done -- the past was the past, and if he could have healed one old injury he would have healed them all. So he merely gestured for Kili to roll his trouser leg back down, and then smiled as brightly as he could muster.

“Right as rain!” he said. “Let's get your brother, shall we?”

The sun was still high when Bilbo ducked out from under the overhang, but it was nearing the last quarter of the day, and he knew without asking that they would not see Beorn's that night. Fili stood straight-backed, sword at the ready, and Bilbo came to stand beside him, his body turned enough that he could keep an eye on Kili, who hung back beneath the rock.

“How is he?” Fili asked. He sounded as though the question had cost him something, and Bilbo once again resisted the urge to pat him on the shoulder. Perhaps all these wretched dwarves really just needed a lot of patting, he thought. Perhaps dwarves did not pat their children enough. It would explain some things about Thorin, at any rate.

“As well as can be expected,” Bilbo said. “Shall I fetch the rope?”

Fili turned to him and opened his mouth as if to reply, but it seemed he thought better of it, for he swung around, sheathing his sword and stumping over to the little shelter. Kili, on his feet now, shrank back a little against the back wall, and Bilbo pattered up behind Fili, feeling a twinge of nervousness.

“I am your brother,” Fili said, stopping several feet from Kili. “I killed those orcs because I am your brother. I would do anything to keep you safe.”

Kili's eyes were wide, the whites staring in the dim light. He watched Fili, hands twitching a little at his sides.

Fili dropped his head and made a noise of frustration. Bilbo saw Kili's eyes darting from side to side, and it seemed to him that he was searching for ways of escape. Thinking about running. Bilbo nodded and smiled, although there was nothing to nod or smile about, but it didn't seem to help, and he was preparing himself for another mad dash, yet another tackle, when Fili turned sharply away and stormed out from under the overhang.

Kili's agitation seemed to subside a little, and Bilbo let himself relax. He opened his mouth to tell Fili once more that it was no-one's fault, that it couldn't be helped and that he was sure that Kili would come around eventually (although the last was far from true), only to find the young dwarf tearing his scabbards from his back and dropping them to the ground.

“Master Fili?” he said. “What are you doing?”

Fili made no reply. Instead, he unbuckled his great belt and let it fall, following it with his coat and his jerkin. He pulled the knives from his boots and dropped them on the pile, then followed them with the boots themselves. Bilbo became aware that his mouth had fallen open, but he did not close it until Fili stood before him, barefoot and wearing nothing but his breeches and tunic.

“Are you--” Bilbo said, “--are you quite well, master dwarf?”

There was no answer. Fili merely shouldered his way past Bilbo and ducked back under the overhang, where Kili still stood, looking quite as confused as Bilbo felt. Once there, Fili dropped to his knees and raised his hands, palms upwards, towards his brother.

“I am your brother,” he said. “I am your brother.”

Kili frowned, looking down at his brother and then up at Bilbo. Bilbo nodded and smiled and wondered if he should point; pointing seemed to have worked rather well so far. Kili looked away from him, though, back to Fili, who never stirred from his knees nor lowered his hands. Kili's mouth seemed to shape a word -- not _water_ , Bilbo noted, but he could not make it out clearly in the gloom -- and then he slowly lowered himself to a crouch, ducking his head and peering up into Fili's face. They stayed like that for a long moment, each brother regarding the other, and Bilbo did not know what passed between them, if indeed anything did, but after a little while -- long enough that the silence was grown rather cumbersome -- Fili reached out a slow hand and tried to brush Kili's cheek. Kili ducked his head away, but he did not move completely out of reach, and he looked back at Fili after only a moment. Fili's hand remained hanging in the air, but he did not move to touch his brother again. Instead, he nodded, and rose to his feet. 

“Mr. Baggins,” he said, ducking back out into the sunlight and reaching for his boots. “We should be going.” 

Bilbo looked from Fili to Kili in confusion. “Er,” he said. “The rope, then?”

Fili glanced back over his shoulder at him. “No rope,” he said, and shrugged on his jerkin.

Frowning, Bilbo turned to Kili. He was still crouched, watching his brother intently. Not bound, and yet he did not run. And all the same, after everything they had done in the last two days to keep the little dwarf by them, it seemed nothing short of foolhardy to Bilbo to abandon that now. When they got back to Beorn's, yes, when there was Thorin and Gandalf and all the other dwarves to keep an eye, and the threat of orcs was far behind them. But here, in the wildlands?

Fili had finished dressing, slinging his swords back on his back and picking up his pack. “Come along, master burglar,” he said, for all the world as if they were merely out for a stroll. Bilbo, casting one last glance at Kili, ducked out from under the rock and trotted over to where Fili stood. 

“We can't just leave him,” he said. He could not understand what Fili was thinking, and found himself wondering if the kind of madness that Kili displayed was catching.

“He's not a prisoner. He's free to follow us if he chooses,” Fili said, rather loudly, and, turning his back firmly on the little shelter, he began to walk away. 

Bilbo scuttled after him, reaching to tug on his sleeve. “Are you _mad_?” he said, but the last word came out as something of a squeak when Fili gripped him suddenly by the arm, his fingers like iron digging into Bilbo's flesh.

“You watch him, master hobbit,” he said, his voice so low that Bilbo could barely hear it. “If he doesn't follow, you tell me, you understand? You tell me right away.” 

Bilbo gulped and glanced over his shoulder. Kili had stepped out of the shelter and was standing in front of it, hesitant, watching Fili walk away.

“Is he following?” Fili hissed.

“I don't--” Bilbo started, and then Kili took a single step forward. And then another. “Yes,” Bilbo said, hardly remembering to keep his voice low. “By my boots, he is, he is!”

The grip on his arm loosened, and Fili seemed to sag a little beside him, although he kept walking, slowly and deliberately, and did not look back.

“You watch him, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “You'll watch him for me, won't you?” 

“What if he stops following?” Bilbo asked.

Fili's fingers flexed on Bilbo's arm. “Then we will need more of your rope,” he said.

And so the two of them marched out of the clearing and into the wildland forest, and the little dwarf followed behind.


	7. Chapter 7

Somewhere along the way, it began to rain.

In his rational mind, Bilbo knew that a little dampness was one of the least misfortunes they could have expected, and indeed, they should be grateful for it, as the water would help to wash away their trail. But he was tired and hungry and his nerves felt twisted and wrung after everything that had happened, the stone giants and the goblin battle and the burning trees, the wargs and the great orc and the days and nights out in the wildlands with nothing but Fili's swords standing between him and an orc's cooking pot. He hunched his shoulders and felt the water dripping down inside his collar, and thought of how the other dwarves were safe at Beorn's, with a warm fire and a stout door between them and the outside world. How he would have been there, too, if he had not followed Fili out into the wild.

He was not even sure if they were heading towards Beorn's house now. Fili had lost the way the day before, and he had said nothing about gaining it again. He marched deliberately, it was true, as if he was sure of himself and his direction. But part of that, at least, was for show, and perhaps all of it was. Perhaps they were going away from safety, further out into the wildlands, and the first Bilbo would know of it was when they came to the mountains or the great silver sea.

Given all of this, the least Fili could have done was be a good companion. But the little victories with his brother seemed to have done nothing to lift his mood -- in fact, if anything, it had made it worse. He seemed sunk in gloom, his head bowed and shoulders so rigid with tension that Bilbo thought they might snap. He spoke only to ask Bilbo if Kili was still following them, and every time he asked, Bilbo dutifully glanced over his shoulder and spied the little shadow trailing forty paces behind them. Every time, he reported this to Fili, and every time, Fili only grunted and gave no other response.

It was, Bilbo thought, really rather irritating.

“How about a sing-song?” he suggested. It was, in all fairness, a rather ridiculous suggestion. Even Bilbo was wise enough to see that singing was not at all unlikely to bring orcs down upon them, or who knew whatever other beasts might be roaming the wildlands. But he was cold and damp and trying to help, and he did not feel that he really deserved the look Fili turned on him.

“Are you serious?” the young dwarf asked, with such incredulity that Bilbo hunched further down into his quite frankly inadequate cloak and grew hot about the face. 

“Only a suggestion, master dwarf,” he muttered.

“Perhaps you'd like to think before making any more suggestions,” Fili said. Bilbo, stung, stared down at his feet, squelching through the sopping leaves. Home and hearth, warmth and comfort -- perhaps he would never see them again.

“Is my brother--” Fili started, and Bilbo let out a sigh of exasperation.

“ _Yes_ , he is following,” he said. “Just as he was the last twenty times you asked! As you would know if you would only look for yourself.”

Fili paused in his steps. “Does something ail you?” he said, and Bilbo found himself throwing up his hands.

“Everything ails me!” he said. “Do you even know where we're going?”

Fili stopped outright then. “South,” he said. “We're going south.” 

“And what is south?” Bilbo asked. “Is that the way to Beorn's house?”

The silence from Fili was answer enough. Bilbo's spirits sank even further. “We're lost,” he said. Lost, lost in this dreary place, and who knew if the others would even still be at Beorn's when they found their way again, if they ever did? Bilbo looked up at the glowering, sodden sky and closed his eyes, wishing as hard as he could that when he opened them he would see the cheery light of Beorn's lanterns through the trees. But when he cast about him all he saw was grey gloom and dripping, dark branches, nothing more.

Nothing. Nothing more.

“Fili,” Bilbo whispered, and brought up a hand to tug at Fili's sleeve. 

“We will find the way,” Fili said firmly. Bilbo shook his head. He hardly dared say the words on his tongue, but the longer he held his peace, the worse it would be.

“He's gone,” he said. “Your brother's gone.”

\----

“You were supposed to watch him,” Fili said for the third time, and for the third time Bilbo felt a sick, guilty lurch in his stomach.

“He was there,” he said. “I swear he was there.”

“And yet he is not here now,” Fili said, standing in the place where Bilbo had last seen the little dwarf and spreading his arms wide. “Where has he gone, master hobbit?”

“I don't know.” Bilbo shook his head, and then blinked, for Fili's face was suddenly very close to his, his strong fingers twisting in Bilbo's shirtfront, lifting him half off the ground.

“Where is my brother?” Fili said. There was rage threaded through his voice, and Bilbo felt very cold.

“I don't know,” he whispered again. Whether it was the words or the wretchedness with which Bilbo said them, something caused Fili to pull back, loosing his fingers from Bilbo's shirt and straightening. He stood a moment with one hand over his eyes, and then squared his shoulders.

“I will go this way,” he said, pointing. “You go that. Hoot twice like a barn owl if you find him.”

So relieved was Bilbo that he had apparently been forgiven, or at least not mauled, that it wasn't until Fili had already trudged away that he realised he had not the first idea how to hoot like a barn owl. He had still not completed his exasperated thought about dwarves and their obscurities when he found himself suddenly dragged backwards by the collar, the motion so abrupt that he left his feet entirely and found himself half-collapsed in a dense stand of undergrowth. A hand clamped firmly over his mouth before Bilbo could cry out, and his eyes watered as he realised that Fili was so close, his back still visible amongst the trees, but Bilbo was caught and he could not speak.

And then he turned to look at his captor, and saw familiar dark eyes peering through tangled black hair.

“Master Kili!” Bilbo squeaked, or tried to, but the words slurred against the little dwarf's hand. Kili raised a finger to his lips and shook his head. He whispered a word in Black Speech and carefully removed his hand from Bilbo's mouth.

“We were looking for you,” Bilbo said immediately, keeping his voice low. “Your brother is quite beside himself.” He started to stand, meaning to call out to Fili, but a foot hooked around his ankles and sent him sprawling, and before he could regain himself Kili was half on top of him, hand over his mouth again and eyes wide and intent. He said the Black Speech word again, twice, and shook his head vehemently. 

It was then that Bilbo heard the faint sound of voices over the hiss of rain falling through the trees. The words were not discernible, but the tone was -- an ugly, writhing tone that Bilbo was becoming all too familiar with.

Orcs.

Kili shifted off Bilbo and crouched to peer out through the undergrowth, one hand still clamped over Bilbo's mouth. Bilbo lay frozen, not daring to move in case the rustle of it gave them away. Rainwater dripped steadily onto his forehead from a branch overhead, running down the side of his face with unbearable slowness, and yet he did not dare even raise his hand to brush the drops away and ease the tickling of it. Mere inches from where his feet lay entangled in bracken and brambles, he saw flashes of movement through the gaps in the vegetation. Harsh voices snarled back and forth and heavy feet splashed through the mud, and more than once Bilbo thought he heard the word that Kili had repeated. Kili himself sat still as if he were a part of the forest, just a boulder or a tree stump and not a creature with eyes and a mind and heart. If Bilbo had not known he was there, had not had the little dwarf's grimy palm pressed against his lips, he might have overlooked him himself. 

And so they waited and tried to hold their breath -- or Bilbo at least tried, Kili seemed to have little trouble not breathing for long periods of time -- and the voices passed by, the tramp of boots slowly receding. When the sounds had faded into nothing, Kili took his hand from Bilbo's mouth, and Bilbo sat up and straightened his waistcoat. He was about to speak when Kili suddenly put a finger to his lips again, and Bilbo, heart sinking, prepared himself to hide once more. But the figure that stepped into view this time was no orc, but rather Fili, an anxious look on his face and a sword unsheathed in his hand.

“Master hobbit?” he called in a hoarse whisper, and Bilbo climbed to his feet and scrambled through the bushes, ignoring the grasping fingers on his shoulder trying to pull him back.

“Here,” he said, waving. 

Fili turned with a smile of relief, and then Bilbo's view was obscured by a set of shoulders clothed in a filthy shirt. He flailed for a moment in some surprise, half stumbling into Kili's back. 

“Kili! Thank Mahal.” Fili's voice was cracked with relief, and Bilbo stepped sideways so he could see the young dwarf's face. For a moment he saw it -- wearing a smile, bless us all -- and then Kili's back was before his face again. Bilbo frowned.

“What are you doing back there, master hobbit?” Fili called. Bilbo had no answer -- it was a question he might have voiced himself. He stepped sideways again, glancing up to see that Kili's eyes were downcast, his shoulders hunched, and then Kili moved in front of him, one hand coming back and half-pushing Bilbo behind him. 

Fili called him again, and Bilbo resorted to waving a hand high enough that it would be visible above Kili's shoulder.

“I'm all right,” he called. “Just give me a moment.” A moment to think, for surely there was something he could make sense of here if he could only have a moment to think. Kili had watched him walking with Fili all day and had made no move to place himself between them -- or indeed to come near them at all, for he seemed still to be wary of his brother. He had watched them all day, and--

\--he had watched them all day. And he had been hiding in the undergrowth just yards from where Bilbo and Fili had been talking earlier. Had he been watching then, too? Had he seen Fili almost lift Bilbo from the ground in his grief and fear? And now here Fili stood, brandishing a sword and calling for Bilbo. Oh, it was suddenly all too clear.

Bilbo took a moment to close his eyes and think a few choice thoughts about addle-brained dwarves and their overreactions, and then he stepped deliberately sideways and gripped Kili by the wrist.

“Now, my lad,” he said. “There is nothing to fear from your brother, not for me and certainly not for you.”

Kili did not look at him, but tried to move to block Bilbo's view of Fili again. Bilbo pushed him firmly back, and then patted his arm when he threw Bilbo a confused glance. “Not that I'm not grateful, of course,” Bilbo said, for he had always been taught to be polite when someone tried to do you a kindness, even if it was a misguided one.

“Is that what he thinks?” Fili said, and Bilbo looked over to see that he wore a stricken look. “He thinks that I might hurt you?” 

Bilbo opened his mouth to try and explain, but Fili was looking at Kili now, and for all his naked sword and his warrior's gear, he suddenly looked like nothing more than a child playing dress-up. “What will it take to convince you that I am no threat?” he asked softly.

Something thick came into Bilbo's throat, and he swallowed it down. Really, it would not do! He had had quite enough of miserable dwarves for one day, and they should certainly be concentrating on how to find the way back to Beorn's without being skinned by orcs, and not spending all their time dwelling on how very unfair the whole situation was. As usual, though, it seemed it would be up to Bilbo to get them back on track. He patted Kili's arm again and then pointed at him.

“You stay there,” he said, and started walking towards Fili. Kili took an abortive step forward, frowning, and Bilbo raised a hand.

“Stay,” he said, and it seemed that Kili understood the intent, at least, for he did not move again, just watched.

Bilbo reached Fili's side and stood by him, patting him gently on the arm as he had with Kili. “Do you see?” he said, ignoring Fili's confused look. “Nothing to fear at all!” 

“What are you doing?” Fili asked. 

Bilbo just patted harder. “He's really quite soft-hearted,” he said to Kili, and then, without really thinking about it, he wrapped his arms around Fili. 

Fili made a noise of surprise and then seemed to understand, returning Bilbo's embrace. Bilbo felt some mild relief that the young dwarf had thought to drop his sword before reciprocating. He suspected it would not have helped Kili's wariness if his brother had accidentally cut Bilbo in half.

As it was, Kili took half a step forward and raised a hand, as though he thought some kind of violence were being done. It occurred to Bilbo only too late that he might never have seen a friendly embrace before -- or never remember having seen one, at any rate -- and he hoped he hadn't done more harm than good. But Kili did not move any closer, and though he frowned, he did not seem concerned, merely puzzled.

“Well,” Bilbo said finally, letting go of Fili -- perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed to him that the young dwarf tightened his grip a little before loosing it -- “there, you see? He is not such a monster after all.” 

Fili stood silent a moment, and then spread his arms. “What do you think, my brother?” he said. “Am I a monster?”

Kili did not reply.

\----

“Here,” Fili said, looking around himself and nodding in satisfaction. Bilbo sighed. Another ring of trees, another small shelter, this one just a shallow depression in the hillside. It was perfectly serviceable, rather luxurious, even, compared to some of the places they'd stayed on the road. But it was still out in the wildlands, and they were still far from safety.

“I'll find some wood,” he said. There was no point burdening Fili with his complaints. It wasn't as if the young dwarf had got them lost on purpose.

“Mr. Baggins.” Fili caught at his arm as he passed, and Bilbo looked up at him. Fili was eyeing the forest around them, eyes darting from tree to tree.

Bilbo glanced over his shoulder. “There,” he said under his breath, making the slightest movement of his head towards the deepening shadow between two slender silver-barked trunks. There was a darker shadow within it, small and hunched and almost indistinguishable in the general gloom. Fili fixed his eyes on the spot and frowned, until Bilbo elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“Don't stare,” he said. “You'll scare him off.”

Fili looked sharply away, down at the grass and then over at Bilbo. “Wood,” he said. 

“Yes,” Bilbo replied. “I'll just be--”

“I'll go,” Fili said. “Your eyes are sharper than mine, you'll be able to -- to keep watch.”

He trudged away before Bilbo had a chance to reply. The rain had stopped now, which was a blessing, but the clouds still hung grey and heavy, and although the sun had surely not yet set, the darkness was already almost complete. 

“You know,” he said to the darkness under the trees, “it would be much more companionable if you would come and sit out here with us.”

No answer came, not that Bilbo really expected any. He busied himself about the clearing, picking up what kindling he could without moving out of sight of the place where Kili lurked. He hummed a quiet tune to keep himself company, and after a while began to sing some of the words. It was an old Shire song about the wonders of a good, warm hearth and (like most Shire songs) there was something comforting and cosy about the melody, as if it contained within itself some of the warmth and vigour of the flames. When he had made quite a pile, he decided there was no need to wait for Fili to get back to get it started, and he drew out his tinderbox and lit the kindling, breathing gently on the flame and singing snatches in between breaths. He was concentrating so hard that it wasn't until the fire was licking merrily up one of the larger sticks that he looked up to see Kili was kneeling at the edge of the clearing, his eyes wide as he watched Bilbo. 

Bilbo stopped singing and smiled, but a little frown passed over Kili's face. 

“Ah,” Bilbo said. “So you like my singing, do you? My mother always said I had a good voice.” Kili just stared, and Bilbo nodded and began another song, this one about good strong ale. He kept his voice low, and after a few moments Kili crept a little closer. Bilbo fed the fire and warmed his hands and sang, and he began to feel some of the cares of the day evaporate with the chill from his skin. 

The spell was broken by Fili's return. He dropped his pile of wood and another rabbit by the fire, and then froze when he saw Kili, as if he was afraid any movement might send him back into the woods. Bilbo was not entirely sure the fear was unfounded.

“Sit, master dwarf,” he whispered. “Take off your weapons and we shall have fire and food and song.” 

Slowly, Fili removed his scabbards and lowered himself to the ground. Bilbo hummed a few bars of a new song, then started halfway through a verse, because he had long forgotten the first words, if he had ever known them at all. Kili, miracle of miracles, did not move from his spot just outside the circle of firelight, and after a few minutes, Fili unwound himself enough to pick up the rabbit and start cleaning it. A few minutes more and another song started, and Bilbo was surprised to hear a deep, wordless harmony line proceeding from the young dwarf's closed mouth. He leaned forward, allowing the cold of the day to slowly ebb away and watching the fire dance in time with the song. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was camping in the Shire.

When the song ended, Bilbo smiled. “You have a good ear,” he said to Fili.

In answer, Fili began a song of his own. It was not a cosy Shire song, and it did not tell of the joys of food and friendship. It was a song of dwarves, filled with longing and earth and darkness. But he sang it well, and Bilbo found himself spellbound, and filled with a longing of his own, for things that he had never known and indeed cared nothing for. 

There were many songs before the food was done, songs of dwarves and hobbits both, and whenever Bilbo looked at Kili he was sitting just as before, just outside the light of the fire, with eyes wide and watchful. When the rabbit was cooked to his satisfaction, Fili carved away a piece with his knife and turned, very slowly, until he was kneeling facing his brother.

“Will you eat?” he asked, holding out the meat.

Kili looked from his face to the meat in his hand, and then to Bilbo. Bilbo nodded encouragingly and mimed eating, which perhaps was unnecessary since it was unlikely Kili would want to use the meat for anything else. Still the little dwarf did not move, although he half-lifted a hand before apparently thinking better of it. 

“You must eat,” Fili said, and shuffled forward a little on his knees. Kili drew back, but he did not move, his eyes now fixed on the food. Fili moved forward a little more, stretching his arm out as far as he could, and Kili, after one last quick look at Bilbo, darted forward on his hands and knees and snatched the meat out of Fili's hand, retreating to a spot slightly further away than he had been before and crouching, watching Fili warily. Fili settled back on his heels and nodded, and Kili, after waiting for another long moment, fell on the meat.

Bilbo had thought that dwarvish table manners were a sight to behold, but he did not think he had ever seen anyone eat with the sheer, ravenous abandonment that Kili showed. He had accepted everything Bilbo had fed to him the night before, but now that he had the food in his own two hands, it became clear that he had been holding back. Even Fili looked shocked, although his own eating habits were certainly nothing to be proud of. 

And then, both of them had seen how skinny the little dwarf was, the ribs just under the skin and the thin arms and legs. Both of them knew that he was not stocky in the way dwarves ought to be, his shoulders too narrow to mark him out immediately as one of Durin's folk. It should have been no surprise that he was hungry. But there had been so many other things to concentrate on, and it wasn't as if they had plentiful rations to spare. All the same, Fili now glanced at Bilbo and took out his knife again, turning back to the rest of the rabbit where it hung over the fire. 

“He can have my share,” he said. “There's jerky in my pack. It will be enough for now.”

Bilbo watched as Kili finished the last of the rabbit in his hands and began to gnaw on the bones. “Is there enough jerky for two?” he asked.

\----

After dinner -- after Kili's dinner, for Bilbo and Fili had little enough that was worthy of the name -- they simply sat for a while and stared at one another. Bilbo tried various entreaties to get Kili to come closer to the fire -- for the little dwarf's clothes were damp from the rain, and he shivered every now and then -- but nothing could persuade him, although he did not move away, either. Fili sat silent, and seemed content enough to watch his brother without trying to speak. 

Finally Bilbo gave up on the question of moving towards the fire and returned to a different theme. “What was that word you used earlier?” he said. “ _Uluk_ , was it? Or -- _uruk_?” The Black Speech startled him coming out of his own mouth, even thin and weak as it sounded in his high hobbit voice. Kili, though, was more than startled. He sat up sharply and looked around, and Bilbo quickly shook his head.

“No, no!” he said. “I don't mean there are any here. I just wanted to know what you call them.” 

Kili subsided, although he still cast hunted glances around himself. Bilbo shuffled carefully over to him and patted him on the shoulder. “Orcs,” he said. “We call them orcs.” He opened his mouth wide and formed each sound as clearly as he could. “Orcs.”

Kili frowned and copied him, forming the consonants soundlessly. Bilbo nodded.

“Exactly,” he said. “ _Uruk_ is orcs.” 

“ _Uruk_ ,” said Kili, and then, frowning in concentration, produced a noise that sounded almost like _orcs_.

Bilbo felt a great smile break across his face. “Yes. Yes!” he said, and looked back at Fili. “Did you hear?”

Fili smiled back, and indeed looked closer to happy than he had in quite some time. “Teach him a better word,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” Bilbo thought about it for a moment, then pointed at Kili. “Dwarf,” he said. “Dwarf.” He pointed at Fili. “Dwarf.” 

Kili watched the movement of his lips. “Wf,” he managed, and Bilbo nodded and smiled.

“Dwarf,” he said, pointing again at Fili.

“Dwuf,” said Kili, managing to put some sound behind the word, hoarse though it was. The contrast with the leering menace of the Black Speech was such that Bilbo almost laughed.

“And how is that, Master Fili?” he asked.

Fili smiled. “Dwarf,” he said.

\----

Kili fell asleep from one moment to the next, as if someone had pulled a curtain. Bilbo had started singing softly again, and Fili was tending the fire, and when they looked around the little dwarf's head was nodding on his chest, as if he had simply run out of wakefulness. Fili waited a moment to see if he would wake, then stood quietly and gently draped his coat around Kili's shoulders. It swamped the little dwarf, pooling on the floor like a man's coat on a child.

Fili sat back down by the fire, never taking his eyes from his brother. “He was to be tall,” he said.

“I'm sorry?” Bilbo asked, breaking off in the middle of his song.

Fili hunched his shoulders. “He always hated being younger,” he said. “Hated always doing everything later, hated being smaller. My mother--” he paused, and smiled. “My mother told him he would be taller than me one day. _I see it in you, Kili_ , she would say. _You will grow and grow_.” He turned back to the fire. “I was so--” he stopped, and the smile on his face became pained, “--jealous.” 

Bilbo eyed the little dwarf. He was of a height with Fili, Bilbo thought, if not a little shorter. Certainly he would never grow taller now. They must have been just children, he thought. Just children when one brother was stolen away and the other left to nothing but guilt and grief. And now there was no way to take that time back. Kili would never be taller than his brother.

“Well,” he said, setting those thoughts aside, “he's still taller than me.” 

Fili stared at him for a moment, then broke into a genuine smile. “Taller than a hobbit!” he said. “ _Don't worry, Kili, at least you'll be taller than a hobbit_.” He snorted. “Oh, how he would have raged!”

Bilbo tried to imagine Kili, raging about being compared to a hobbit. Wanting desperately to be taller than his brother. He tried to imagine the two of them, fighting over silly things, begging their mother to tell them how it would be in the future. Whatever stories she wove, she surely could have foreseen nothing like this.

“I am sorry, Mr. Baggins,” said Fili, and Bilbo looked up from his thoughts. 

“Whatever for?” he asked.

“I have treated you poorly,” Fili said. “This afternoon -- I was afraid, and you didn't deserve my anger.”

“Think nothing of it,” Bilbo said, with some sincerity. 

“I used to think--” Fili said, and then sighed and started again. “I used to dream that he came back,” he said. “That I would wake up one morning and he would just be there, laughing at me for being such a fool as to think him dead. Every night for months after-- And then even years later.” He stirred the fire. “He was always laughing,” he said. “He thought it was such a joke, that I should be so easily tricked.”

He fell silent, and Bilbo shuffled round the fire until they were side by side, shoulders touching.

“I am so terribly sorry,” he said. It seemed barely adequate.

“Of all creatures on this earth, you have the least to be sorry for,” Fili said. “You have saved my brother, you have helped him and cared for him, though he is not even kin to you. I am grateful, my friend, I cannot even tell you how much.”

Bilbo stared into the fire. _Not even kin_. He heard the echo below that, the little grief mixed in with all the rest, for how must it feel, to find your brother and have him turn away from you? But it did Fili credit, if any more credit was needed, that he seemed not to blame Bilbo, and Bilbo pressed against his shoulder and smiled.

“Well, it seems I will do anything to wipe away that sour expression that you of Durin's line are so very fond of,” he said.

Fili snorted. “We of Durin's line have a great deal to be sour about,” he said.

“And a great deal to celebrate,” Bilbo said. Just beyond the firelight, Kili had slumped slowly to the ground, and now lay curled in his brother's coat. “He will laugh again,” Bilbo said.

“Will he?” Fili asked, and Bilbo saw something so desperate in his face that he reached out a hand and gripped his forearm, speaking with far more certainty than he felt.

“Yes,” he said, “he will.”

\----

The next morning dawned clear and bright, and they were on their way when the sun was still barely above the horizon, for there was no breakfast to be had and no reason to delay. Kili walked behind them, but Bilbo thought he was a few paces closer than he had been the day before, and Fili seemed a little lighter, too, a little less rigid in the shoulders. The stands of pine were mostly gone now, with broad-leaved trees and patches of bare ground taking their place, and the world seemed a much brighter and airier place than it had before. 

They headed southwards, and Bilbo did not ask again if Fili knew where he was going -- in large part because he was not sure he wanted to know the answer -- but it still nagged at him. So when they crested a low ridge at mid-morning and Bilbo spied what looked like a twist of smoke rising from the plain below, and then below it what looked like a tiny wooden hall, his legs almost gave out from relief. He pointed with a word that was really more of a squeak of joy, and Fili squinted against the sun and then broke into a grin.

“Never mind the elves,” he said. “That's the homely house for me!”

After that, they marched with a lighter step, and faster, until they noticed that Kili was falling behind. Beorn's house was still some miles away, and it was almost noon before they could make it out clearly, seeming to glimmer in the soft waves of grass. Bilbo's mouth started watering at the thought of bread and honey -- although any food at all would have been welcome at this point -- and Fili talked about hot water and cleaning his hair. Both of them were so wrapped up in their thoughts of _home_ and _safe_ that they didn't realise anything was amiss until they heard Kili calling from behind them.

“ _Uruk_ ,” he called, high and desperate, and hobbit and dwarf swung round as one to see him sprinting towards them, tangled hair flying, and behind him, far behind but not far enough, black figures racing down from the ridge.

“Run!” cried Fili, and pushed Bilbo in the direction of Beorn's as he raced back towards his brother. Bilbo waited until he saw that Fili had grabbed Kili's hand and was dragging him forwards, and then he turned and ran as fast as he could, cursing his short hobbit legs and his empty belly. He stumbled once or twice in the long grass, and once he looked back to see that Fili was carrying Kili on his back, just as he had Bilbo on that day that now seemed so very long ago. For the most part, though, he simply ran, and the rough sound of his breath in his ears was loud enough that it sounded like orcs breathing down his neck. 

And then the house was close enough to make out the shape of the roof, and then it was close enough to make out the windows and door, and then it was close enough to make out the individual logs that formed the fence (and behind him an orc horn sounded), and then, and then Bilbo was stumbling through the gateway with his heart hammering and his breath sobbing in his throat. Safe. Safe, finally!

“What--?” said a voice, and Bilbo felt rough hands on his shoulders, spinning him round. He squinted upwards, blinking the water out of his eyes, and recognised Thorin's face.

“Oh,” he said, “oh,” and he wanted to say more, wanted to say _Fili is still out there, and Kili too, your other nephew back from the dead_ , but there was no breath with which to say it, and then Thorin was lifting him from the ground and shaking him until his teeth rattled.

“Where have you been?” he growled. “What have you done with Fili?”

And Bilbo could not answer because his teeth were rattling and his breath was caught in his chest.

“Answer me,” Thorin said, shaking him harder still. “ _Answer_.”

And then there was a guttural snarl, and something small and dark barrelled into Thorin from the side, sending him stumbling and loosing his grip on Bilbo. Bilbo found himself in a heap on the ground, and had barely managed to distinguish which was his head and which his feet, let alone pull himself upright, when his attention was caught by the fierce, wicked sound of Black Speech. He sat up, horrified for a moment at the thought that the orcs had dared to enter Beorn's, that his safe haven was not safe after all, and then he saw that he was wrong. For it was no orc, but Kili who stood, half-crouched, between Bilbo and Thorin, the snarl of Black Speech rolling from his lips. And Thorin stood still, eyes like saucers and mouth hanging open, one hand reaching out to steady himself as he stumbled back against the fence. 

“It's all right,” Bilbo said. “It's all right.” 

But Kili did not seem to hear him, only spitting ugly words at his uncle until Thorin's face was white and bloodless. And when he finally fell silent, chest heaving, the silence was almost as fraught as the words had been, and all could hear the way Thorin's breath stuttered in his throat.

“What--” Thorin finally gasped out. “What is--”

And then Fili stepped forward, pale as well but steady on his feet.

“Uncle,” he said. “I have found Kili.”


	8. Chapter 8

Were it not for the sturdy fence, Bilbo thought, Thorin would not still be on his feet. He was still not fully recovered, that much was clear enough, but it was not his wounds that made him clutch at the wood for support. He stared as though he had seen a ghost -- which was true, of course, in a way.

“This is a trick,” Thorin said. His lips barely moved, and he did not take his eyes from Kili, where he stood half-crouched and tensed as if to spring. “Or I am dreaming.”

“No trick,” Fili said. “And if it is a dream then I am dreaming it with you.”

“A shade, then.” Thorin held up a hand, but although he seemed to mean it as a warding gesture, his fingers curled as if trying to grasp something. “A vision of the dead, come to haunt me for my failures.”

“Uncle,” said Fili, “he is not dead. He was never dead at all.” Something in his voice drew Bilbo's attention, and he saw that the poor young lad was close to tears. Well, let him be. He had kept them all together, body and soul, these last long heartbreaking days, and now it was time for someone else to take a turn.

The only obvious someone else was still shaking his head in disbelief as he stared at the living, breathing ghost of his lost nephew. “It cannot be,” he muttered, but even as the words left his mouth he pushed himself away from the fence and strode forward, reaching for Kili.

Kili growled softly and skittered back, and Bilbo scrambled to his feet, waving his arms like he was trying to flag down a wagon.

“Stop!” he said.

Thorin paused, frowning down at him as if he had forgotten he was there at all. Given that he was the one who had dropped Bilbo in a heap on the ground in the first place, it really wasn't the best of manners, but Bilbo supposed it could be forgiven, given the circumstances. 

“What ails you, master burglar?” he asked, but his eyes had already drifted away from Bilbo to Kili, and he was stepping forward again, shoving Bilbo unceremoniously out of the way.

“No, really,” Bilbo said, trying to get in front of Thorin again. Kili was moving back and back, but his eyes were darting from side to side, as though he was looking for a way to escape. To his horror, Bilbo realised that the gateway was still open. The orcs had stopped many hundreds of paces away, slinking back in retreat now, not daring to come closer -- bless Beorn and the terror he inspired in all hearts, Bilbo's not the least! -- but the way still lay wide and clear, and if Bilbo had seen it then surely Kili had, too.

But then Fili was there, placing himself between his brother and his uncle and laying a gentle hand on Thorin's chest.

“He doesn't remember,” he said. Thorin's brows drew down, and Fili shook his head. “He doesn't remember us.”

Kili took a few more steps back, eyeing the open gate, and Bilbo hastened over and laid a gentle hand on his arm. 

“Now, my boy,” he murmured. “Don't do anything silly.” 

“How much has he forgotten?” Thorin asked. 

Fili's shoulders sank under the weight of all he had to tell his uncle. “He remembers only the orcs,” he said, so quietly that Bilbo could barely hear him.

Thorin faltered, then, and Bilbo found himself almost more astonished by that than by any other thing he had seen these past few days. “He has--” he said, and then his voice cracked and he raised a hand, fingers clamping down on Fili's arm. “He has been with the orcs for all this time?”

Fili nodded, as if not daring to speak. Bilbo felt Kili edging back again, and wrapped his hand firmly round his bony wrist, glancing sideways at the gate. 

“Kili,” Thorin said now, pushing Fili firmly aside and taking a step forward. “Kili, surely you must know me.”

“I don't think he knows that Kili is his name,” Bilbo put in. He was trying to be helpful, honestly, although the thunderous look Thorin turned on him seemed to suggest he had just made some kind of obscene joke about the glorious line of Durin or something equally unlikely. Bilbo did his best not to quail. “And he doesn't understand you,” he added, since after all Thorin could hardly look more terrifying at this point, so he might as well finish what he had to say. “He doesn't speak Common.”

“He's learning,” Fili said quickly.

“Doesn't speak Common?” Thorin turned his frown on Kili, and Kili's eyes darted once more to the open gateway. “Then what tongue does he speak?”

Fili glanced unhappily at Bilbo, but neither of them spoke. It seemed there was no need, for many things Thorin might be, but he was no fool. His face, just beginning to regain its colour, grew pale again, and he put a hand on Fili's shoulder, seeming to lean on him.

“Is Gandalf here?” Bilbo said. If only they could speak to Gandalf, he was sure everything would become easier. 

Thorin shook his head, still not taking his eyes from Kili. He looked as though he might fall at any moment, and Fili put an arm around his back, his own tears forgotten as he stood once more to protect his kin. “He is out looking for you,” Thorin said. “They all are.” He turned to Fili then, a flush of anger lending something like life to his ashen features. “What were you thinking?” he asked. “Running off into the wildlands with only a hobbit burglar to aid you! Have I not taught you better?”

“To be fair, he didn't actually know he had a hobbit burglar,” Bilbo piped up. If Thorin was to be angry with someone, then it might as well be Bilbo -- he was used to it, after all, and if anyone needed soft words at this moment, it was Fili.

Thorin glowered at him, but before he could open his mouth, Fili was already speaking.

“It was only meant to be for one day,” he said. “But then -- but then I found Kili.” He shook his head. “Will you find fault with me for that, uncle?”

Thorin's eyes went back to Kili, then, and he took another step forward, and of course Kili took two steps back. Thorin's face changed, and there was a sadness there so deep that Bilbo could scarcely bear to look on it.

“You truly do not know me,” Thorin said, as if to himself. Then he turned back to his other nephew. “Fili,” he said, “you must tell me all.”

Fili nodded, guiding his uncle to sit on a bench that stood against the wall of the house. Bilbo tugged gently on Kili's wrist. He had no wish to be witness to their private grief -- he had seen enough of it and to spare in the last few days -- and he was in no doubt that Thorin would prefer it if he were not there. Besides, he was fairly certain there was food inside the house, and a fire, and a door he could close to keep the world out and Kili in. He took them on a wide berth of Thorin -- though Thorin's eyes followed them as they passed, while Kili kept his eyes fixed on the ground -- and in through the main door.

Kili turned sharply when Bilbo closed the door behind them, staring at it and then giving Bilbo a wary glance. He took half a step towards it, and Bilbo put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come now,” he said. “We're safe in here. Nothing better than a nice, sturdy door when you've been out wandering the wilds, and that's the truth of it!” 

He pushed gently against Kili's shoulder, and Kili let himself be steered forward, though still glancing over his shoulder at the door. A moment later, though, he was staring up and around, face bright with wonder. Bilbo laughed -- he had been rather impressed with Beorn's hall himself when he first saw it, even though he'd seen Rivendell and the Mathom-House at Michel Delving both. Who knew whether Kili had ever seen such a place before, or indeed had even been inside a house at all?

That was a sobering thought, and Bilbo frowned at himself for thinking it and deposited Kili on a bench by one of the walls. “You stay there,” he instructed him. “I'll get us something to eat.” 

He busied himself about the kitchen, setting a pot of water to boil and looking in various cupboards until he found bread and -- bless us all -- honey. His mouth began to water before he had even opened the great jar. Had it really only been four days since he chased Fili out into the wildlands? He felt like he'd been living on nothing but leather and carpet tacks for weeks.

The water boiled, and two thick slices of bread cut and generously spread with honey, Bilbo returned to where he had left Kili on the bench. He handed him a cup and set his own cup and plate down on the edge of the nearby table, drawing up a chair and smiling.

“Watuh?” Kili asked, peering at the cup.

“Tea,” said Bilbo. “It'll help warm you up.”

Kili raised the cup to his mouth and took a gulp, then his eyes bulged and he put the cup sharply down, spitting the mouthful of liquid out onto the floor. Bilbo stared at the little pool in surprise. Kili sucked on his fingers, tears starting in his eyes, and Bilbo realised his mistake.

“Oh!” he said. “Oh, no, too hot! You're supposed to wait for it to cool down.” Well, he was a fool, and no mistake! Bilbo cast around for something to distract the little dwarf, and lighted on the plate of bread and honey. “Here, now,” he said, and thrust it towards Kili. The little dwarf started back, throwing up an arm as if to protect his face, and Bilbo groaned. So happy and relieved was he to be safe again behind Beorn's door, he was doing everything wrong that could be done wrong, and for just a moment he let himself realise just how very tired he was. 

But tired is as tired does, and there would be no rest for Bilbo just yet. He carefully set the plate on his knee, and reached out, gently pushing Kili's arm down until it rested at his side. He gave him a pat, and that seemed to help, for Kili did not try to move away, although he wouldn't meet Bilbo's eye. Bilbo picked up one of the slices of bread and honey and held it out to him, moving smoothly and slowly and making sure that Kili could see exactly what he was doing.

“We'll leave the tea for a bit, shall we?” he said. “You'll feel much better with something solid in your stomach.” _And so will I_ , he added to himself.

Kili kept looking anywhere but at Bilbo for a moment or two, but then his gaze settled on the bread, and he frowned. Bilbo wobbled it a little in what he very much hoped was an inviting fashion, and finally Kili raised a grimy hand and took it from him, peering up from under his hair as if to check he was doing the right thing.

“That's right,” Bilbo said, nodding encouragingly.

Kili gave the bread in his hand a long, thoughtful stare. Bilbo realised he had no idea if orcs ate bread at all, let alone whether they ever fed it to their prisoners. The itinerant bands that stalked the wildlands would have no way to bake it, he supposed. 

“It's food,” he said. “You're supposed to eat it.” He grabbed the second slice and took a huge bite -- ah, he had forgotten quite how delicious food could be on an empty stomach -- and did his best to smile and nod and chew all at the same time. This resulted in him having a minor coughing fit, which he tried very hard to disguise as a groan of delight. Still, Kili seemed to get the idea, and took a bite out of his own piece of bread.

“There you are!” Bilbo said. But Kili made a rather extraordinary face and, without warning, spat the soggy mouthful of bread and honey back onto his palm. He stared at it as though it had bitten him, and Bilbo wondered what on earth could have gone wrong this time.

“You don't like it?” he guessed. He'd never met a person who didn't like bread and honey before, but dwarves were strange creatures, and this one stranger than most. Sighing, he reached out to take the unchewed part of Kili's lunch back from him, but the moment his fingers brushed the crust, Kili's eyes widened, and he suddenly snatched it away and stuffed it into his mouth all of a piece, following it with the half-eaten lump he held in his other hand. He sat, eyes wide and cheeks bulging, and Bilbo, realising that the face he had made had not been one of disgust at all, found a laugh bubbling up inside him.

“Perhaps you're not so strange after all, master dwarf,” he said.

\----

In the end, Bilbo gave Kili his own piece of bread and honey, too, for the little dwarf started staring hungrily at it mere moments after swallowing the last of his own. Kili ate this one a little more slowly, and sucked on his fingers so thoroughly afterwards that they came almost clean. 

Bilbo got him a third slice.

When Bilbo was somewhere in the middle of trying to explain tea again, the door burst open and Thorin swept in, Fili following in his steps like a shadow. Kili, who had been paying close attention to Bilbo and may even have been on the verge of picking up his cup again, immediately dropped his eyes to the ground and folded in on himself. Bilbo sighed. The little moment of respite, of nothing more threatening or heartbreaking than bread and honey, had been shorter than he would have wished, although longer than he could have hoped for. And now Thorin seated himself firmly in front of Kili and paid no heed at all to the way the little dwarf seemed to shrink, and Bilbo clamped his teeth together because Thorin was the lad's uncle and it was really none of Bilbo's business.

Thorin sat silent, leaning forward with his head ducked a little, staring at Kili. Kili, for his part, kept his eyes fixed on the floor and did not move, nor did he seem even to breathe. Bilbo was reminded of the long moments in the forest the day before, when the orcs had been passing their hiding place. He decided he should certainly never voice that comparison aloud, at least not anywhere where Thorin might hear of it.

Finally, Thorin reached out a hand and took Kili by the chin, lifting his face up. The hand was gentle, but Kili's whole body grew rigid nonetheless, and Bilbo reached out his own hand to stroke the little dwarf's forearm soothingly. Kili kept his eyes downcast, and Thorin frowned at him.

“Will you not look me in the face?” he asked. 

It was none of Bilbo's business, really it wasn't, and yet he found himself having to bite his tongue to keep from intervening. All the work, all the careful, painstaking work he had put in over these last days to get Kili to feel safe, and now Thorin was trampling all over it with his great, dwarvish boots! He patted Kili's arm and made a gentle crooning noise in his throat, ignoring the look Thorin threw at him. 

“Uncle,” said Fili, pulling up a chair and sitting on Thorin's other side. “Can you read this?”

He handed Thorin a scrap of paper with dwarvish letters printed across it. Thorin, glory be, let go of Kili's chin and took the paper, sounding the letters out loud. “ _Khozd shrakhun_ ,” he said, and then closed his fist, the paper crumpling under his fingers. “Where did you get this?” 

Bilbo frowned. When the strange words had fallen from Thorin's lips, Kili's arm under Bilbo's hand had jerked slightly, and now he sat awkwardly, his head bowed towards Thorin, where before he had been leaning away. The words must have meant something to him, then. If only Gandalf were here.

“It was on -- on his person when we found him,” Fili said. “I thought you might know--”

“It is Black Speech,” Thorin said. “I know no words of that accursed tongue.” And he cast the paper into the fire.

“ _Khozd shrakhun_ ,” murmured Bilbo, and Kili cast him a startled look and then turned towards him, bowing his head just as he had to Thorin a moment before. Thorin looked at Bilbo then, too, and his expression could certainly not be described as startled.

“What are you doing, Master Baggins?” he asked.

“I think--” Bilbo said, but thought better of finishing his idea. He was probably wrong, and even after Thorin's words to him on the Carrock, he would still prefer not to be wrong in front of him, especially over such a matter as this. “Never mind.”

“No, Mr. Baggins, tell us what it is,” said Fili then. “Do you know what the words mean?” 

“Will you say them for me?” Bilbo asked. “I want to see if I'm right about something.” 

Fili looked to his uncle. Thorin frowned and then nodded, once.

“ _Khozd shrakhun,_ ” said Fili, and Kili, looking utterly confused now, turned quickly and bowed his head towards him.

“His name,” Bilbo whispered, and all the satisfaction of being right was drowned in the rising horror of remembering just where it was that Fili had found those words. “He thinks it's his name.”

“That is absurd,” Thorin said, but Fili was shaking his head, his expression growing sick.

“I think he's right,” he said. “Oh, Mahal, he is right, he is right.”

Thorin looked from one of them to the other, and then finally to Kili, still bowing towards Fili as if waiting for something from him. He reached forward and took Kili's chin again, bringing his head around, ignoring once again the way Kili's body tensed under his touch.

“Your name is Kili,” he said, a sharp edge in his voice. “It is the name your mother gave you, a good name. You will answer to no other.” 

Kili's hands were clenched where they lay in his lap, tightly enough that Bilbo saw white knuckles through the filth that still caked them. Still he would not look up from the floor, and Thorin leaned closer.

“Why will you not look at me?” he asked, and Bilbo was on the verge of exploding when Fili stepped in and saved him, laying a hand on his uncle's arm.

“Uncle,” he said, “you're scaring him.”

Thorin dropped his hand from Kili's chin and sat back. Kili dropped his head, letting his hair fall over his face, and Bilbo groaned inwardly to see all his good work undone. But Thorin simply sat and stared in silence until Bilbo started to wonder how awkward it would be if he were to suggest another round of tea. Thankfully, Thorin finally tired of his examination and stood.

“See that he bathes,” he said, perhaps to Fili or perhaps to the world at large. “He stinks of orc.”

And with that, he strode from the room.

Bilbo might have imagined the collective sigh of relief that greeted his exit, and then again perhaps he did not. At any rate, Fili gave him an apologetic look and said something about heating some water, and Bilbo was left to contemplate the cold mug of tea and the hunched little dwarf that sat beside it.

“Well,” he said. “That was your uncle Thorin. He's not normally like that.” He pondered this for a moment, and then felt compelled to add: “Well, actually, he is normally like that. But not to you. I expect.”

Kili was still looking at the floor, and Bilbo contemplated giving him a whole jar of honey just to cheer him up, but Thorin's commands, overly harsh as they had been, had reminded him of some postponed business. He leaned forward and patted the little dwarf's knee. 

“Kili,” he said, pointing at him. 

At first, he thought Kili would refuse to look at him, but then his gaze lighted on Bilbo's pointing finger, crawled up Bilbo's arm and finally reached his face. He glanced at the door and scowled.

“Yes, yes, he makes me feel like that, too,” Bilbo said. “Now. Kili.” He waggled his finger a little to make sure that Kili understood that the word related to him. 

Kili looked mutinous for a moment, and then he shaped the word, _K_ , _L_. Bilbo nodded, and Kili took a deep breath. “ _Keeli_ ,” he said, the _l_ rather thick and his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Exactly right!” Bilbo said. “Kili.”

“Kili,” said Kili again, his odd accent less noticeable this time. He looked confused, though, and Bilbo checked to see that Fili was out of earshot, and spoke in a low voice. 

“ _Khozd shrakhun_ ,” he said, and Kili immediately began to bow his head, but Bilbo reached out a hand and pushed gently against his shoulder. “No, no,” he said. “ _Khozd shrakhun_ is _Kili_. Kili is your name.”

Kili cocked his head on one side, then laid a hand on his own chest. “Kili?” he said.

Bilbo almost clapped with delight. “Yes!” he said. “Now.” He turned and pointed at Fili. “Fili,” he said, enunciating slowly.

Kili glanced at his brother and frowned. “Dwuf,” he said, and looked back at Bilbo.

“No,” Bilbo said. “Well, yes, and it's dwarf, _dwarf_ , do you hear?”

“Dwaaaarf,” Kili said obediently. Bilbo realised he had probably just made things even more confusing. He sighed and started again. 

“Dwarf,” he said, pointing at Kili and then at Fili. “Dwarf.” Back at Kili again. “Kili. Fili.”

It took some time, and by the end of it Bilbo thought that Kili was beginning to think him rather addle-headed himself, but finally Kili pointed at his brother and said “Fili.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Bilbo said. And thank goodness, too, that both Kili and Fili had easy names, for he did not even want to think about how long this would all have taken if one of them had been named Barliman or Meriadoc. “At least Thorin should be a little happier now.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Not that he's ever actually happy, you understand. That would be beneath his dignity.”

“The water's nearly ready,” Fili said, sitting down beside Bilbo. “How's Kili?”

“Kili,” said Kili immediately. Fili's mouth fell open, and Bilbo felt really quite pleased with himself.

“Did you teach him that?” Fili asked. “Why, you are a marvel, master hobbit!”

“Now, then,” Bilbo said, and pointed at Fili. Kili frowned.

“Dwarf,” he said. Bilbo shook his head, and Kili said, “Fili.”

Fili gave a cry of delight, smiling as Bilbo had never seen him smile before. “At your service!” he said, and bowed low. Kili looked on with a frown that seemed more thoughtful than unhappy, and when Fili straightened and caught up Kili's hand between his own, he drew back, but did not pull his hand from Fili's grasp, looking instead with fascination at his beaming face. “You are Kili and I am Fili,” Fili said. “Kili and Fili, Fili and Kili!”

There was a hiss as the great pot Fili had set to boil bubbled over onto the fire, and Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“I'll get it!” he said, and if he rushed away rather hastily, it was because he was afraid the fire might be put out, and not at all because his eyes were getting rather blurry with tears.

By the time he had filled Beorn's great wooden tub, though, it had occurred to him that volunteering to help bathe Kili was certainly not going to make his afternoon more any more straightforward. The little dwarf was already eyeing the water nervously, though he came to his feet easily enough when Fili pulled on his arm. 

“You do smell foul,” Fili informed him. He was still smiling broadly, and Bilbo could not help but smile himself. How much merrier might their journey have been, he thought, if Fili had but smiled like this every day! He had not suspected that the lad had it in him, somewhere under those layers of quiet melancholy.

“Come now, Master Kili,” he said. “We shall have to have those clothes off.”

In the end, persuading Kili out of his clothes took all of their ingenuity and not a little time, and Bilbo -- now stripped to the waist himself -- began to worry that the water would grow cold. But finally, the little dwarf stood shivering and hunched by the tub, the light of the fire casting strange shadows across his scarred skin. Fili's smile had faded as the dwarven runes carved into Kili's back had once more come to light, and now he knelt by the side of the tub, hands spread and gesturing at the water.

“It will not hurt,” he said. “I promise.”

“See?” Bilbo said, putting his own hands in the water up to the elbows. “Nothing to it at all!”

Still Kili stood, his arms wrapped around his chest and his face barely visible under the thick mop of his hair. Fili cast Bilbo a despairing look and then reached up a hand.

“Kili,” he said. “Kili, please.”

Bilbo did not know how or why, but something in Fili's plea swayed the little dwarf, and he lifted a foot, hesitated, then stepped into the tub. Bilbo jumped to his feet and gently pressed down on Kili's shoulders, and Kili obediently allowed himself to lowered into the water, though his shivering seemed to increase despite the warmth of it. He sat in the tub, tightly curled upon himself, and Bilbo marvelled that a full-grown dwarf could occupy so little space.

Fili's smile was long gone now, and Bilbo wondered if he had only imagined it, for the lad looked so miserable it was hard to think he knew how to smile at all. All this, over a bath of all things! Why nothing could ever be simple with Durin's folk, Bilbo would never know.

“As quick as we can, then, master hobbit,” said Fili, and Bilbo agreed. This was no relaxing soak after a long day in the outdoors, but a trial that must be got through with the least pain to all involved. He picked up the soap and gently prised Kili's arm away from his chest.

“You will feel better when it is done,” he promised, and pretended he did not see the fear on the little dwarf's face.

\----

 _As quick as we can_ was all very well to say, but the task of cleaning a dwarf who has not bathed for as many as twenty-five years is no small thing, and even with the two of them working at it, by the time Bilbo had cleaned the last of the grime from Kili's skin and Fili had worked the last of the knots from his hair, they were both sodden and exhausted, and the water in the tub had taken on a distinct chill. Kili had sat silently throughout their ministrations, allowing each of his limbs to be stretched out for cleaning only to draw it sharply back in as soon as it was released. His trembling did not stop, and both hobbit and dwarf had to force themselves to ignore it if they were to accomplish their aims.

Finally, Bilbo sat back on his heels and wiped a soapy arm across his forehead. “Done,” he said. “And thank goodness!”

Fili ran his fingers carefully through his brother's hair, then nodded. “Just need to rinse you out,” he murmured to Kili, and then pressed down on his shoulders.

If Bilbo had been thinking, he might have remembered how Kili had fought when he had fallen in the river on his first day, how he had struggled and snarled and spat and almost drowned himself in his panic. But Bilbo was thinking only of how tired he was, and how his breeches were soaked, and how he wished he could have a bath of his own, and so it was not until Kili's head dipped under the surface of the water and he went from curled up and silent to violently thrashing that he remembered, and then there wasn't even time to curse himself for his inattention, for Fili had let go off his brother as if his skin was suddenly red-hot, and Kili erupted out of the water, gasping and growling and falling over the edge of the tub in his haste to get away. He scrambled backwards across the floor, leaving a trail of soap and water and drops of blood where he had scraped his calf on the edge of the tub. Fili darted after him, crawling across the floor on his hands and knees and reaching for his brother, but Kili skittered away like a spider, cramming himself into a dark corner and drawing his knees to his chest, eyes glittering in the firelight.

“Kili,” said Fili, crouched now a few paces from his brother. “Kili, Kili.” But whatever it had been about Fili's voice that had touched Kili before, it did not touch him now, and he bared his teeth and pressed himself further into the wall.

The door swung open, and Bilbo had to bite back a groan. Thorin stood in the doorway, surveying the soaking floor, the trail of bloody water, until his eyes lighted on his nephews.

“What has happened here?” he asked, and he moved forward, pausing only to pick up one of the towels that Bilbo had laid ready. “Fili, your brother is shivering.” 

“No,” Fili said, shooting to his feet as his uncle advanced towards Kili's corner. “Uncle, no, you cannot--” He shook his head mutely, and Thorin frowned down at him.

“I cannot what?” he asked. “Cannot offer comfort to my own blood? I must stand by and watch him suffer? Is that what you would have me do?” 

Fili shook his head again. “He's not--” he said, “he's not--” But he didn't seem to be able to finish the thought, and finally he simply took the towel from his uncle's hands.

“The hobbit should do it,” he said. "Kili trusts him.”

Well, if Bilbo had thought he might get some peace now that he had escaped the wildlands, he had been sorely mistaken indeed! It seemed he was not to be allowed to simply sit and watch and let dwarves take care of their own business. For as much as it must have pained Thorin, as black as the look he cast Bilbo was, something in Fili's face prevented him from arguing, and Bilbo found himself standing up and reaching for the towel that Fili held out to him, despite his better judgement and his really quite overwhelming desire not to get in the middle of all this.

 _Too late for that, Bilbo my lad_ , he thought, and resolutely ignored Thorin's glare, turning instead to Kili where he still huddled and shivered in the corner.

“It's all right,” he said, kneeling and spreading the towel between his hands. “Come on, now, it's all right. It was all a misunderstanding, nothing more.” 

Kili watched him as he moved closer, but did not try to escape, although he hunched even smaller, if indeed that was possible. Bilbo shuffled forward with agonising slowness, reminded of stalking squirrels and mice when he was a child. He had never imagined he would have to do such a thing while the squirrel's uncle looked on with a face like thunder, but he supposed that that was just another of the things Gandalf had never told him about adventures.

Finally, he came within arm's length of Kili, and laid the towel about his shoulders, bringing it forward to wrap around him like a shield. “There,” he said. “There.” 

Behind him, Thorin turned away with a noise of frustration. “We must find him some clothes,” he said. “Fili!” 

Bilbo ignored the sounds of the two dwarves rummaging through luggage in search of something for Kili to wear. He stayed where he was, sitting on his heels in front of the corner where the little dwarf huddled. “Brrr,” he said, affecting a shiver. “It's not very pleasant here in the shadows, is it? Why don't you come and sit by the fire?” He pointed at the fire and smiled encouragingly. Kili followed the line of his finger, mouth turning down at the corners when he saw the tub that still sat in front of the hearth. Bilbo, seeing where his gaze fell, sighed a heavy sigh.

“Fili,” he said, climbing to his feet. “Will you help me with the bath?”

\----

Once they had emptied the water, it still took Bilbo several minutes of coaxing and wheedling to persuade Kili to unpeel himself from his corner and stand on his own two feet. Thorin, meanwhile, had assembled a worn blue tunic that belonged to himself and a pair of brown breeches that belonged to Fili. He nodded in satisfaction and took up the ragged clothes that Kili had been wearing for who knew how long, casting them into the fire without hesitation.

Kili made a soft noise and started forward, but Bilbo put a gentle arm across his chest.

“It's all right,” he said. “We will not let you go naked.” 

His reassurance had the effect of attracting Thorin's attention, and he turned and frowned. “What is that?” he said, striding over to them and ducking his head to peer at Kili's neck. “Lift your head, Kili, I cannot see,” he said, reaching out to take Kili's chin in his hand. His movement was stopped by Fili's hand on his arm.

“It is iron,” Fili said. “A collar. There is a chain.” 

Thorin dropped his hand to his side, his eyes hard as he eyed Kili's neck. “Truly, they are lower than beasts,” he murmured, and then seemed to gather himself. “Why have you not removed it?” he said to Fili. “Surely the lock can be broken.”

Fili shook his head. “There is no lock,” he said. “The metal is fused. It will require a forge and all our skills.” 

Thorin's jaw clenched, but he seemed to accept the explanation, distracted now by something else. Although Kili held the towel tightly around himself, the end of one of his more prominent scars was visible, thick and white where it crossed from his chest to his shoulder. Thorin's eye was caught and held, and he reached out but did not touch, his fingers hovering over the raised ridge of the scar.

“There are more,” he said. There was no question in his voice.

“Too many,” was Fili's reply. 

Thorin nodded. “I would see them,” he said. 

“There is no need,” Fili said. “You will only torture yourself.”

Thorin withdrew his hand, turning to look at Fili. “I would see them,” he said again. Fili stood a moment, holding his uncle's eye, then nodded.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said. 

Reluctantly, Bilbo took the corners of the towel from Kili's hands and lowered it to wrap around his waist. Kili made no protest -- it seemed that Thorin's proximity had the effect of making him silent and pliant, which perhaps made things a little easier, but which rather turned Bilbo's stomach. Thorin stayed silent, too, his eyes running along the many scars that adorned his nephew's chest. He made no comment, but simply moved to look at Kili's back. Once there, though, he made a stifled sound, and Bilbo knew he had seen the dwarven letters that marched across Kili's shoulder blades. _Khozd shrakhun_. A name, of sorts.

“Fili,” said Thorin, his voice low and cold with fury, “did you kill the orcs who were with him?”

“Yes,” Fili said.

“All?” 

“All.”

“And what of the one we have sought for so long?” Thorin asked. He had not taken his eyes from Kili's back, and Bilbo knew he was reading the words again and again. _Khozd shrakhun, Khozd shrakhun_. He wished that Thorin could have been spared this, for as much as it made Bilbo sick to think of it, how much more must it pain a kinsman who had known Kili when his skin was smooth and his mind unshadowed? But none of them could be spared, and there was nothing for them to do but make the best of it.

“He was not among them,” Fili said.

Thorin did not reply. He reached out again, and this time he did not stop before reaching Kili's skin, his fingertips tracing over the letters, heedless of how Kili's shoulders hunched and his breath came faster at Thorin's touch. Bilbo felt his earlier sympathy begin to ebb, replaced with a feeling he was much more accustomed to associate with Thorin -- irritation. 

Thorin's fingers reached the heavy chain where it hung down between Kili's shoulderblades, and he curled his hand around it, clenching his fist until his skin grew white around the metal. “This is intolerable,” he said, reaching for the collar and trying to dig his fingers behind it. “I will not have him dressed like a slave!” He cast around, seeming suddenly distracted, half wild. “There must be a hammer, something we can use to remove it,” he said.

Bilbo would have liked to be able to think that he would have spoken up even had Thorin made no alarming remarks about hammers, would have done whatever he could to make Thorin loose his hold on his nephew and let propriety go to the wind, for Kili was clearly in some deal of distress. But remarks there were in any case, and so Bilbo would never know. “Thorin,” he said, surprising himself with how short he sounded, “could I have a word?”

“Not now,” Thorin said. If Bilbo was short then Thorin was a razor-edge, and Bilbo remembered the tales he had heard about how Thrain his father had descended into madness. But still he tugged on the collar and still he did not heed his nephew's rising fear, and Bilbo took his courage in both hands and stood up straight, squaring his shoulders.

“I'm afraid it must be now, master dwarf,” he said. “It is important.”

A moment passed, and Bilbo feared that Thorin would not heed him, or perhaps had not heard him at all, but then he released his hold on Kili and turned to glare at Bilbo.

“Outside,” Bilbo said.

“Fili, get your brother dressed,” Thorin said, and swept from the room. Bilbo followed behind him and did his best not to think about the way he was further entangling himself in this business of dwarves and orcs and painful history of families not his own. Instead, he thought of how delighted Fili had been when Kili said his name, and he thought of how Kili had stood between Bilbo and Thorin, spitting and snarling. If Kili could do that, after all he had endured, then surely Bilbo could stand as a shield too, could stand between Kili and Thorin just as steadfastly.

“What is it?” Thorin demanded as soon as they reached the yard, now swathed in shadow as the sun set far over the western mountains. “Be quick; my patience grows thin.”

“Your patience was never thick,” Bilbo muttered, but before Thorin could react to that, he stood to his full height and said his piece. “Thorin,” he said, “you are a big, scary, angry dwarf.” He had not intended to be so blunt, but at least it had the effect of gaining Thorin's full attention, and Bilbo blundered on before he could be interrupted. “And Kili, he's spent the last twenty-five years -- all his life, so far as he knows -- surrounded by big, scary, angry orcs. How then do you think he sees you?”

Thorin's face grew dark. “What is your point, master burglar?” he asked, and Bilbo had to force himself not to quail.

“My point,” he said, feeling every moment less like a shield and more like a flimsy piece of cloth that might blow away at the next breeze, “my point is that the way you're behaving is not -- er -- not... helping.”

By the time Bilbo reached the last words of his speech, his voice was down to a mumble. Thorin regarded him in silence, and Bilbo tried to ignore the flush that he knew stained his cheeks.

“Master Baggins,” said Thorin finally, “I understand from Fili that I have much to thank you for.”

Well, that was not what Bilbo had been expecting at all!

“You have done my family a great service,” Thorin continued, “and I owe you a debt that I doubt I shall ever be able to repay. Know that if you should ever need to call on the strength of Thorin Oakenshield, or on any dwarf of Erebor, your call shall not go unheeded.”

“Er,” said Bilbo, but Thorin held up his hand.

“You have returned my lost nephew to me,” he said, “and for that I can never truly express my gratitude. But now your task, great though it was, is complete, and you may lay it down in the knowledge that it was well done. There is no need for you to interfere any further.”

Bilbo's mouth dropped open. “Interfere?” he said, his voice coming out rather more high-pitched than he had expected.

“A poor choice of words,” Thorin said. “I mean to say that Kili is now among his kin, who know best how to care for him. You need worry about him no longer, for he is no longer your concern.” 

Bilbo could not even find the voice to speak, let alone the words to say what he thought of Thorin's belief that he knew what was best for Kili, and he was left gaping and flummoxed as Thorin turned on his heel and stepped back into Beorn's house. As soon as he was able, though, he hurried towards the door himself, for who knew what damage Thorin could be causing in there?

Before his hand reached the doorknob, though, he heard a sound in the darkness behind him, and the sound quickly became a voice, a voice he had been longing to hear for many days now. He turned, and one of the long shadows that fell from the fence detached itself and became a long figure, complete with staff and hat.

“Well now,” said the figure. “Here is our burglar, none the worse for wear after all!” 

“Oh thank goodness,” said Bilbo. “Gandalf!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, some days I look back at writing >7,000 words which could be adequately summarised as "Character A eats sandwich; takes bath" and I wonder about myself, I really do.


	9. Chapter 9

“The others will be glad to see you indeed,” said Gandalf, smiling down at Bilbo from his great height. “You have led us a merry chase these past few days, my dear Bilbo. And I trust Fili is also unscathed?”

Bilbo flapped his hands. “We're fine, we're fine,” he said. “Gandalf, I have been waiting -- oh, I cannot explain! You must come and see.” He turned back to the door, wrestling with the stiff hinges for a moment. Gandalf, finally! Surely Gandalf would be able to help!

Inside the house, Thorin stood by the hearth, glowering (of course!) but apparently not engaged in any active terrorising of his nephew at this very moment. Fili, a few paces away, turned to see who was coming and looked relieved when he saw Gandalf step inside. Behind him, Kili stood in the shadows, dressed now in the tunic and breeches that Thorin had found for him.

“Ah, Fili!” Gandalf cried. “It is good to see you are well. I am sure your uncle has already said his piece regarding the wisdom of wandering the wildlands alone, and so I will only say that I am glad you have returned.” He paused, looking now at Kili. “And who is this?”

Fili glanced behind him and then at his uncle. At Thorin's nod, he moved aside, and Gandalf bent low to peer into Kili's face. He stood that way a moment, bent almost double at the waist and squinting into the shadows. Then he broke into an astonished smile.

“Now this is an unexpectedly happy day for Durin's folk!” he cried. “There is a face I never thought to see again on this earth. Well met, my dear Kili, very well met indeed.”

Kili twitched at the mention of his name, but he did not raise his eyes to meet Gandalf's. Gandalf straightened up, a shadow passing across his smile. 

“And there is a tale to tell,” he said, addressing Thorin now. 

“He has been with the orcs,” Thorin said, glaring into the fire as if it was personally responsible for all that had passed. “All these years. He remembers nothing, his mind is destroyed. He cannot speak.”

“He can speak,” Bilbo said, before Fili had a chance to open his mouth. “But he--” He hesitated. “Gandalf, do you know anything of the orcish language?”

Gandalf's smile faded then, and he seemed suddenly old, older than all the ages of the earth, and bowed with many burdens. He looked from Bilbo to Kili, and when he spoke, it was with deep regret.

“I do,” he said. “Though I would choose not to let those words pass my lips except in dire need.” He nodded. “And yet, I see that there has never been so noble a purpose for that evil tongue.” He turned to Thorin. “And what would you have me say?”

“I would not have him speak at all, if it is only to speak as an orc,” Thorin muttered. 

Fili sucked in his breath. Gandalf regarded Thorin for a moment, his face sombre, but Thorin did not look up from the fire, and at last Gandalf turned to Fili.

“And you, young master dwarf,” he said. “Would you also condemn your brother to silence for the crime of having his mother tongue stolen from him?”

The words were spoken in a mild tone, but they bore sharp edges nonetheless, and Thorin shifted, although he did not speak. Fili looked between his uncle and Gandalf, but Thorin gave no sign, and finally he seemed to come to a decision.

“I would have you tell him not to be afraid,” he said in a low voice, as if hoping Thorin would not hear, though he stood only a few paces away. “I would have you tell him that I am his brother.”

Gandalf nodded and smiled, though it was a sad smile. He found a chair and seated himself in front of Kili, so that their eyes were almost level. 

“ _Nar timer_ ,” he said. “ _Nar vrasublat_.”

The thick, ragged sounds of the words made the hairs rise on the back of Bilbo's neck, and even Thorin seemed to hunch a little. On Kili, though, they had a much stronger effect: he started and stumbled back a pace or two, wide eyes fixed on Gandalf's face. Gandalf made no move, but merely smiled. 

“ _Nar vrasublat_ ,” he said again.

Kili blinked once, twice, and then said, “ _Nar udautas._ ”

“What did he say?” Bilbo asked, unable to hold himself back any longer. For all that the language almost hurt to listen to, it was oddly fascinating to watch Kili speak and be understood, and he realised that he had come to think of him more as a child than a full-grown dwarf whose thoughts were as complex as Bilbo's own.

“I told him I would not kill him,” Gandalf said. “He replied _not today_.”

“What?” Fili said. “Why would he say that?”

Gandalf sighed. “It is the orcish way,” he said. “There is often no way to translate our thoughts into their tongue. They have no use for many of the things that we hold dear.” There was a warning in his words, but of course Thorin bore no heed to it.

“He is no orc,” he growled.

“That is true,” Gandalf said. “And yet he knows of no other customs. And will not learn of them, if we cannot overcome our distaste long enough to explain them to him.”

“Uncle, please,” said Fili. Thorin did not reply, but he did not move to stop them, either. Fili drew a breath, and said, “Can you tell him we will never kill him?”

Gandalf nodded. “Though I do not know if he will understand,” he said, and then turned back to Kili, who still watched him intently. “ _Kurr vrasublat_ ,” he said. “ _Kurr khozd vrasubutlat_.”

Kili's eyes narrowed, and he looked around at Thorin, at Fili and Bilbo before returning his gaze to Gandalf. “ _Amat?_ ” he said.

Gandalf leaned back in his chair. “He asks why,” he said, before Bilbo could ask the question. 

Fili closed his eyes, his mouth twisting. “Tell him we are his kin,” he said. “Please, Gandalf, please explain to him.”

Gandalf bowed his head in assent, but he had barely begun to speak to Kili again when the front door crashed open and Beorn strode through, in his man shape and yet never more bear-like, or so it seemed to Bilbo, for he bristled with rage and his teeth seemed sharp and bright in the firelight.

“What is this!” he cried. “Who would dare use that tongue in my hall?”

Behind him, the rest of the company had begun to trickle through the door, stopping in surprise as they heard Beorn's shout. Bilbo glanced around at Kili, but the little dwarf was gone, and it took Bilbo several moments to find him, with his back against the wall in the darkest corner of the hall. Gandalf, meanwhile, had risen to meet Beorn, and raised both his hands in supplication.

“Now, my friend,” he said. “Many things have come to pass while you have been gone. Please, allow me to explain before you act rashly.” 

Beorn glowered down at him, and Bilbo took a step back himself, though Beorn's attention was not on him at all. How Gandalf could simply stand there and not even cringe, Bilbo would never understand. But wizards were made of stern stuff, that at least had long since become clear.

“It was your voice I heard,” Beorn said. “I recognised it even through the corrupted filth that it spoke. Who were you speaking to?” And his great, shaggy head lifted as he gazed around the hall, eyes like torches peering into each corner until, inevitably, they rested on the place where Kili stood.

“What is that?” Beorn asked with a growl. “Is it a goblin?”

Thorin moved then from the fire, stepping forward and sideways until he stood between Beorn and Kili. “It is a dwarf,” he said, “and my nephew.” 

A hush fell on the hall then, as each of the other dwarves glanced at Fili and then tried to see what was in the corner. But Thorin stood his ground, and so did Gandalf.

“My dear fellow,” he said, “this situation is rather complicated, as you see. Let us talk outside, and if then you are still wroth, we will discuss how we can make amends.”

Beorn growled again, but he allowed Gandalf to take him by the elbow and lead him away. The moment they were through the door, the hush of the dwarves turned into a buzz of voices that rose in volume as they each asked all the questions that came into their heads, and all came forward to try and see who it was that Thorin had claimed as his kin. 

“Quiet!” Thorin cried, and the clamour of voices stopped, the dwarves all staring at him, round-eyed. Thorin took a moment to compose himself, and then he threw back his shoulders.

“My nephew Kili has been found,” he said.

This announcement set off the buzz again, but Thorin raised his hands and glared, and the noise was quickly dampened. “He has been with the orcs,” Thorin continued, “and he remembers nothing of his life before, nor of any of us.” He paused and cleared his throat. “He does not yet understand why we are... holding him, and he is--.” He seemed to grope for a word. “--he is afraid. I would ask, then, that you keep your voices low and keep your distance. There will be time enough for questions later.”

A dead silence had fallen across the company as Thorin's speech continued, and now each looked at the others, and there was every feeling that Bilbo could think of displayed upon their faces. But Bofur stepped forward, bowing a little towards Thorin.

“Can I just ask,” he said, “is the lad all right?”

Thorin regarded him in silence for a moment, and then he turned away.

“He is not dead,” he said.

\----

Bilbo didn't know if they had talked about it or if there was just some kind of secret dwarvish code that he was not privy to, but after Thorin's speech there seemed to be an invisible line that crossed the hall about halfway down, over which no dwarf would step but Fili and Thorin. The company bustled around in the half of the hall nearest the door, taking off their weapons and gear, making themselves tea and talking much more quietly than they were accustomed to do. In the lower half of the hall, Thorin and Fili stood by the fire and Kili crouched in the corner and all of them waited for Gandalf to come back.

Bilbo found himself at a loose end. He went and sat by Kili for a short time, but the little dwarf was even more silent and unresponsive than usual, and would not even look at him. So Bilbo found himself crossing that invisible line and stepping in amongst the rest of the company for the first time since he had followed Fili out of this very hall and into his most difficult adventure yet.

It was odd, Bilbo discovered, being among so many after spending so much time with just Fili and Kili. All the dwarves were pleased to see him, slapping him on the back and shaking him by the hand and telling him -- quietly -- how glad they were that he had not been eaten by orcs, and incidentally, would he like to tell them everything about how Kili had been found and just what was wrong with him? But Bilbo knew that, even if they were speaking in low tones (low for dwarves, at any rate), Thorin could still hear them, and so he raised his hands and said that it was not his story to tell, which was not really the truth but at least seemed to satisfy them for the moment.

Finally, he found himself hovering in a corner of his own, diagonally opposite from where Kili sat, and he wondered at himself a little, for all the feelings of loneliness and homesickness he had felt while he was lost in wildlands had evaporated, replaced by a desire to just sit and be quiet. The dwarves seemed little interested in quiet, though, and it took a number of one-word answers to their questions from Bilbo before they began to drift away, back to their little whispering clumps and their furtive glances cast towards Kili's corner.

Bilbo was left in peace for at least two minutes. And then, Bofur stumped over and stood before him, holding out a steaming cup.

“You look like you need it more than I do,” he said.

Bilbo accepted the cup, breathing the scent of it with gratitude. The last tea he had made still sat, freezing and abandoned, on the bench where he had taught Kili his name. Since then, there had hardly been time to think, let alone make refreshments.

“Thank you,” he said, and Bofur took that as an indication to sit down.

“It's right glad I am to see you're all right,” he said. “We were worried about you. Fili, too.”

“I'm fine,” Bilbo said. “We're both fine.” Which was also not entirely true, but there was no need to go into all that now.

“Aye, more than fine, I'd say,” Bofur said. “Gandalf wasn't lying when he told us of your skills. Burgling dwarves back from the dead isn't a talent you see very often.”

Bilbo stared at him in surprise, and Bofur grinned. “If you can sneak a jewel from under the nose of Mahal himself, I imagine you'll have no trouble with the dragon,” he said.

It was odd, Bilbo realised, but he had almost forgotten about the quest that had brought them there in the first place. The last few days -- and how they felt like weeks, like months! -- had been so filled with thoughts of orcs and tragedy and how to get Kili to trust him -- and all the breakfasts, dinners and suppers that Bilbo had been missing -- that Erebor and the dragon had all but slipped his mind. Even now, thinking about them, they seemed far away and insignificant.

“It's a marvellous thing, so it is, to have that wee lad back with his family,” Bofur continued. “His mother will have them build a statue to you, I shouldn't wonder.”

His mother. And there was another thing Bilbo hadn't really had time to think about, the poor woman who had thought her son dead these twenty-five years, who still thought him dead now.

“Did you know him?” he asked. “Before, I mean.”

“Oh, aye,” Bofur said. “I've known him since he was no bigger than your right foot.”

Bilbo nodded. All he knew of Kili beyond the quiet, intense creature that sat now in the corner was that Fili had loved him and his mother thought he would grow tall. Suddenly, he burned with questions of his own. “What was he like?” he asked.

“Him?” Bofur smiled. “A proper little terror, he was. Always up to something or other, no more sense in him than a drunken housefly. How their mother put up with the two of them, I'll never know.”

“Fili, too?” Bilbo asked, and Bofur snorted. 

“Aye, him too,” he said. “He came up with some of their wilder schemes, if I'm remembering right.” He sat back and puffed on his pipe, smiling fondly at something Bilbo couldn't see. 

Bilbo tried to imagine it. Fili and Kili, the sullen, gaunt little dwarf and his melancholy brother, a pair of mischievous youngsters terrorising their little village. The picture wouldn't come, no matter how hard he tried. All of that had been wiped away by what had happened since. He sighed.

“I suppose Thorin found it all rather difficult,” he mused. He couldn't imagine Thorin having anything at all to do with children, let alone lively tearaways such as Bofur was describing.

Bofur laughed quietly. “Oh, you should have heard the lectures on proper behaviour,” he said. “Go on for hours, they would. Not that it ever seemed to dampen their spirits.” He grinned around his pipe. “I've never seen two lads laugh so much.”

And there again, was something Bilbo could not imagine. He had barely seen Fili raise more than a sarcastic snort, had never seen Kili so much as smile. It was as though Bofur was describing two entirely different people. “That's not what I expected,” he said, and Bofur's smile faded.

“Ah, well,” he said. “When Kili was murdered, it fair did for the whole lot of them.” 

What little there was of an image for Bilbo -- two little dwarf children running rings around their glowering uncle -- was shattered by that one word, _murdered_. “But he wasn't,” he said.

Bofur smiled again at that. “And that is blessed news indeed, my friend,” he said. “You bring us luck, and that's the truth of it.”

And Bilbo found himself smiling back.

\----

It was almost an hour before Beorn and Gandalf came back in, and when they did an expectant hush fell across the whole company. Bilbo -- who had drifted from his corner to the table, and then to the fire, and finally taken up a station just on the quiet side of the invisible line -- leapt to his feet and stood anxiously, waiting to see what Beorn would do. Fili moved to stand before his brother, and Thorin stood square with his back to the fire, hand resting on his sword hilt.

Beorn ignored them all, striding through the crowd of dwarves and making straight for Kili's corner. When he came to Fili he stared down at him with narrow eyes.

“Will you block my way in my own house, master dwarf?” he said.

“Will you tell me what you mean to do to my brother?” Fili replied.

“Now, now,” Gandalf said, shouldering his way between them. “There is no need to argue. Fili, Beorn merely wishes to examine your brother to assure himself that I have told him the truth, which I have.”

Fili scowled at Beorn for a moment, but then stepped reluctantly aside. Beorn went to his knees before Kili, who stood pressed against the wall with his head down. Even kneeling, the great skin-changer was forced to duck his head so as to be able to look Kili in the face.

“It is true,” Beorn muttered as he peered at Kili. “You are a dwarf.” 

Kili made no response. He seemed smaller even than usual, swamped in the blue tunic that was made for a dwarf six inches taller and much wider in the chest than him. Someone -- Fili, no doubt -- had rolled up his sleeves so that his hands should not disappear entirely, and now Beorn's attention was caught by the manacles at his wrists. He frowned at them, and Bilbo was reminded that he had a manacle of his own, around his left wrist. Whatever the tale was behind that, it must have touched Beorn's heart, for after a moment's thought he stood and turned to Gandalf.

“You will not speak the orcish tongue in my house,” he said. “But you may use it outside, if you are not too loud.”

Gandalf smiled. “I thank you for your understanding,” he said with a bow, and then nodded to Fili.

“Come then, young master dwarf,” he said, “and bring your brother with you. We still have much to discuss.”

\----

The dwarves parted like waves of grass as Fili led Kili through the hall to the outer door, led by Thorin and trailed by Bilbo. They stood back, respecting Thorin's request for distance, but they stared and stared, for it was the first time any of them had seen Kili's face in twenty-five years. They were all smiles, though, which stood in sharp contrast to the grim faces of Thorin and his two nephews. They did not understand yet, Bilbo thought, quite how unhappy the situation was. Or maybe they did understand it, and were simply happy to have Kili back regardless. Either way, there was something about the broad grins and the bows that rippled through the company as Kili passed that made Bilbo feel that perhaps everything would not be quite so difficult as he had feared, and he smiled and waved at Bofur when he was sure Thorin wouldn't see.

Outside, the sky had grown quite dark, and Gandalf took a lantern that swung from the eaves of the hall and led them to a little bench, quite around the corner from the door and well out of earshot of anyone within the hall. Fili settled Kili there, and Gandalf set down his lantern and disappeared, coming back with a larger bench on which he placed himself. Bilbo perched on one end of this, and Thorin claimed the other. Fili sat next to his brother, although he left a gap between them.

“Now, then, Master Kili,” Gandalf said. “Where were we?”

Kili raised his head and narrowed his eyes. “ _Kurr vrasubizish_ ,” he said. “ _Khozd shrakhun snaga, amat kurr vrasubizish?_ ”

“Tell him I'm his brother,” Fili said, not waiting to hear what Kili had asked.

Gandalf nodded. “In good time, my boy,” he said. He seemed to think a moment about how to proceed, and then he spoke a long phrase in Black Speech. Bilbo caught Fili's name, and Kili's eyes flicked over to his brother once, and then back to Gandalf. When Gandalf stopped speaking, he simply frowned and said something short and clipped.

Gandalf sat back and laid his hands on his knees with a sigh. “It is as I feared,” he said. “He does not understand.”

“How can he not understand?” Fili stared at Gandalf, and then at Kili. “You told him in Black Speech, did you not?”

Gandalf shook his head. “There is no word for _brother_ ,” he said. “The orcs care not for such things. The closest term translates roughly to _litter-mate_ , but it does not bear meaning to them, except perhaps as a competitor for food.” He sighed again. “I am sorry, my friends, I am afraid this is going to be rather difficult.”

Fili clenched his fists in his lap and loosened them again. “Tell him,” he said, “tell him I knew him before he came into this world, and I shall know him after he leaves it. Tell him I love him and I will never stop.” His eyes seemed wide and bright in the lantern light, and Bilbo would have crept over and patted his knee, but Thorin's glare stood like a barrier between them.

Gandalf nodded and spoke two short phrases, but then he stopped and shook his head again. “There is no word for _love_ , not one that I know,” he said. “I can tell him that you will not kill him, but I have already told him that.”

Fili let out a cry of frustration, rising to his feet. “How then am I to tell him what he is to me?” he asked. “How, if their thrice-cursed tongue does not even have words for _love_ , or _brother_?” He sank to his knees in front of Kili and grasped his hands. “Kili, Kili,” he said, and tears spilled now onto his cheeks. “I am your brother.”

Kili stared down at him and then asked Gandalf a question. 

“He asks why you cry,” Gandalf said. “He asks if you are weak, for he had thought you strong.”

Fili let go of his brother's hands, then, falling back as if he no longer had the strength to kneel. Gandalf waited, but when Fili said nothing, he prompted him. “What would you have me reply?”

Fili shook his head. “Let him think me weak,” he said, his voice shaking.

Thorin reached down and gripped Fili's shoulder, murmuring something in the dwarven tongue. Bilbo slipped quietly off the bench and sat on Fili's other side, pressing up against his arm and thinking comforting thoughts. Kili frowned down at them both, and then slipped from the bench himself, crouching in front of his brother, who still wept silently. He said something in Black Speech, and then looked up at Gandalf to translate.

“He says that he has no litter-mates,” Gandalf said. “He says that he was born of filth and bad blood among the orcs, and he had no mother, and was always a slave.”

Fili drew a shaky breath. “Kili,” he whispered.

“ _Nar blord_ ,” said Kili. “ _Nar Khozd shrakhun Kili. Nar Khozd shrakhun brodor Fili_.”

“He asks you not to cry,” Gandalf said, “for he is not your brother.”

“No,” said Fili. “No, no, Gandalf, please.”

And Gandalf, oh bless Gandalf, he did not wait for Fili to tell him what to say, but simply began to speak, the words rolling from his tongue and seeming to echo and boom around the yard, the very trees seeming to shiver in the orchards and the stars looking harder and colder than usual, as if they disapproved. Bilbo caught names he recognised -- Fili, Thorin, even Bilbo, once -- and sometimes Gandalf used Common words, _brother_ , _mother_ , _uncle_. Erebor was mentioned, and there were a few words too which Bilbo recognised from the Black Speech itself, _uruk_ and _khozd_ , though he did not know what the latter meant, only that it appeared again and again as Gandalf spoke. 

When, at last, Gandalf fell silent, Kili made no response. He crouched still, watching his brother, but seeming unmoved by whatever tale Gandalf had told. Fili, for his part, seemed to have lost whatever strength he had left to him, and simply sat staring back. Finally, Thorin broke the silence.

“What did you tell him?” 

“Everything I could,” Gandalf said, “though I do not know if he believed me.”

Kili spoke then, a question, and Gandalf relayed it, seeming rather surprised. 

“He asks where dwarves go when they die,” he said. 

It was Thorin who answered. “We go to the halls of Mahal,” he said. “There we meet our forefathers.” 

Gandalf translated this, and Kili seemed to think about it, and then made a reply.

“He asks if it is a good place,” Gandalf said.

“It is not to be feared,” Thorin replied.

When Gandalf had relayed this, Kili rose to his feet, looking down at Fili, and spoke for longer than he had before. Bilbo, from where he was sitting by Fili, saw Gandalf's face grow shadowed with sorrow in the lamplight, and knew that whatever Kili said, it would bring Fili no comfort. When he fell silent, Gandalf drew in a great breath.

“I think that this should wait until we have eaten and slept,” he said. “It has been a very long day, even for those who have not been chased through the wildlands by orcs.”

“What did he say?” Fili asked, and when Gandalf did not reply, he raised his head to look at him. “Gandalf,” he said.

Gandalf closed his eyes. “He said that if it is true you cared for this creature you call brother, you should hope that he is dead. He said that he hopes that he is dead, for to languish in this life is not a fate he would wish on his greatest enemy.”

Fili made a noise of grief and his head sank into his hands. Thorin stood abruptly, and when Gandalf stood, too, he raised a hand.

“Let me be,” he said. “Please, just -- let me be.” He stalked into the darkness, and Gandalf and Bilbo watched him go, but Fili did not even seem to have noticed. He sat hunched over, his face in his hands, and Bilbo rubbed a hand between his shoulderblades and felt utterly helpless. Kili still stood before them, frowning down at Fili, and there was something of sadness in his face, but he did not move to comfort his brother. And how could he have done, indeed, when it was his words that had so wounded him? 

It was left to Gandalf, then, to break the silence, and he did so by clearing his throat.

“I really do think we all need some rest,” he said. “Fili, my boy, will you take your brother inside?”

Fili did not respond, and Gandalf looked to Bilbo, his face heavy with sadness. “We must give him time,” he said. “We must all have some time.”

Bilbo nodded, and gripped Fili tightly by the shoulder before standing.

“Come on, then,” he said to Kili, taking him by the arm. “That's quite enough orcish behaviour for one night, I think.”

Kili made no protest, although he glanced back often at his brother as Bilbo led him away. He seemed more confused than upset, and Bilbo tried not to think about how great the task before them seemed now. When Kili had merely been a scared feral child in Bilbo's eyes it had merely been a case of bathing him and feeding him until he grew tame, but now he saw that there was more to all this, so much more.

“Gandalf,” he said, once he was sure that Fili would not hear, “what does _Khozd shrakhun_ mean?”

Gandalf sighed. “It means _dwarf-scum_ ,” he said.

Bilbo's heart had been breaking for days now, and yet every time he thought it was thoroughly in ruins, there came something to prove him wrong. 

“I see,” he murmured, and gently propelled Kili around the corner of the hall towards the door, where there would be food and fire and ten dwarves who would smile and bow at Kili as if he could understand what they were doing and why. He glanced back, before he turned the corner himself, to see Fili still sitting hunched on the grass, head bowed and face in shadow. 

“I see,” he said again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so sorry. I really didn't intend for this chapter to end quite so miserably, but it just kind of came out that way. D:


	10. Chapter 10

When Bilbo pushed open the great wooden door of Beorn's hall, it was to the sound of rumbling dwarf-chatter, laughter and snatches of song. But when he stepped through with Kili in tow, the room fell silent. Bilbo paused on the threshold. The dwarves were seated around the long wooden table, Bombur frozen in the act of passing on a plate piled high with bread and honey. All of them were staring, and Bilbo felt Kili shift restlessly beside him.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well -- good evening, everyone,” he said, doing his best to sound cheerful. He started to steer Kili around the table to the far end of the room, but the little dwarf stopped in his tracks when Dwalin suddenly stood, the bench scraping back beneath him. 

“If you'd like to join us, laddie?” he said, looking at Kili and gesturing at an empty space next to Balin. Balin smiled and patted the bench.

Kili did not raise his eyes from the floor; it was not clear if he even knew he had been addressed. After a moment, Bilbo shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Er,” he said, and to his great relief Dwalin -- who, to be honest, had always rather terrified him -- seemed to take this as an answer.

“Well, if you change your mind,” he said gruffly, and sat back down with a thump. Bilbo gave them all a smile which no doubt looked rather watery and pushed Kili onwards until they reached the relative safety of the dark corner that Kili had chosen as his own. He glanced back to see that the dwarves were all still staring.

“Carry on,” he said, waving his hand. Thankfully, Bofur chose that moment to loudly start telling a story about his third cousin's husband's friend who had once accidentally singed half his beard off standing too close to a forge, and in a moment the silence had been replaced by general hubbub, although it was more subdued than before. 

Bilbo busied himself finding something for Kili to sit on, only to find when he turned back that the little dwarf had sunk to sit on the floor with his back to the wall, and refused to be moved despite Bilbo's entreaties. He watched the company intently, though if he saw anyone looking back he dropped his eyes quickly to the floor. Bilbo sighed. Ten dwarves and a wizard all at once were certainly a large mouthful to be swallowed, as he well knew, and Kili was coping surprisingly well compared with his earlier introduction to Thorin, not to mention Fili and Bilbo himself. He patted the little dwarf's knee.

“I'll get us some food,” he said.

Bilbo found a tray on the dresser, although he had to stretch on tiptoes to reach it -- really, it made no sense at all for anyone to grow as large as Beorn! -- and carried it over to the table. The moment he arrived, the noise died down -- though it did not cease completely -- and Bilbo found himself the object of ten curious gazes. 

“You know, you don't all have to keep staring all the time,” he said, feeling rather irritable. “Haven't you got anything better to look at?” 

“Are Fili and Thorin coming in?” Balin asked. 

“They're feeling... unsociable,” Bilbo said. As for Gandalf, who knew where he had wandered off to? “Now, if you'll excuse me, I--”

“Mr. Baggins, is it true Kili doesn't remember anything at all?” Ori interrupted him. 

“No, I'm afraid he does not,” said Bilbo somewhat snappishly. 

Ori glanced over in Kili's direction, looking quite concerned. “Maybe he'll remember me?” he said. “We're friends. I mean, we were.”

“Now, Ori lad,” murmured Balin, but Bilbo sighed and felt rather shamefaced about his earlier outburst. 

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I don't think he will.” _Not to mention you'd have to persuade him you weren't going to kill him, first, and I expect there's no word for 'friend' in Black Speech anyway._

Ori hung his head a little, and then Bilbo felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned to see Bifur looking at him.

“Er,” Bilbo said. He never really knew what to say to Bifur, for he could speak neither the dwarvish tongue nor the sign language he used. But Bifur did not speak, merely took a slice of bread and honey from his own plate and placed it on Bilbo's tray, nodding his head and patting Bilbo's arm.

There was a moment's pause, then Bofur said, “Aye, me too,” and placed his bowl of soup on the tray. 

There was a general murmur, and food began to appear from all directions. Bilbo rather quickly began to worry that he wouldn't have the strength to carry the tray back to Kili, for the dwarves seemed to be choosing the largest portions of everything and stacking them up with little heed for ease of transport. He staggered around the table, barely able to see over the tottering pile of bread, soup, cakes and cream, and almost ran straight into Dwalin, who had risen to his feet again and now wedged two steaming cups into the corners of the tray, and none too gently, either. Bilbo squeaked and tried to balance so that the jug of cream didn't fall off the slice of seed cake, and Dwalin surveyed the tray and growled.

“Meat would be better,” he said. “Lad's just skin and bones.” 

Balin cleared his throat and jerked his head in the direction of Beorn, who was seated in a corner reading and doing an excellent job of ignoring the dwarves. Dwalin grumbled but subsided. 

“I'll take it to him, shall I?” he said, reaching for the tray.

“No, I--” Bilbo took a step back and the stack of food wobbled for a perilous moment. Dwalin raised an eyebrow and grabbed the tray, pulling it out of Bilbo's grasp before he could object. 

“Mr. Dwalin,” Bilbo said, but Dwalin was already halfway across the room, and Bilbo scurried after him. Drat it all, why could not dwarves ever do as they were told?

But it seemed Dwalin had been listening, after all, for he stopped a good few paces away from Kili and set the tray carefully on the ground, then sank down himself, sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees. Kili did not acknowledge him, but Dwalin did not seem to mind.

“My name is Dwalin,” he said, and though his voice was still deep and grumbling, all the edges seemed smoothed away. “I know you, laddie, and you know me.”

Kili did not look up, but his eyes had crept from the floor to the tray of food, and now he stared at it without blinking.

“Aye, well,” Dwalin said after a long moment of silence, “if ever you need me, you've only to call.” And he unfolded himself from the floor, gave Bilbo a nod, and went back to the table. 

Bilbo watched him go, and he waited until the noise of eating and talking had risen back to reasonable levels before he carefully shoved the tray of food closer to Kili.

“They would all like to meet you, you know,” he said, setting the various plates and bowls out. He picked up one of the steaming cups. “Now, look here,” he said, and when he was sure he had Kili's attention, he blew carefully on the tea. “See?” he said. “Hot.”

Kili frowned and picked up the other mug, mirroring his actions. It was such a simple thing to be teaching him that Bilbo could almost forget what he had said outside, the things that they had learned. He could almost imagine once again that Kili was a blank slate, ready to be written on by whoever knew the right words.

Almost.

And then again, there was something else, too. Bilbo saw it when Kili was shovelling food into his mouth without looking at it, keeping his eyes always on the table full of dwarves. Something that sent a shiver along Bilbo's spine, something that he had seen before, that first day and night out in the wildlands, when he had looked into Kili's dark eyes and feared to be murdered in his sleep. He had long since dismissed it as his own fevered imagination -- for the little dwarf was surely more harmless even than Bilbo, not to be feared but only pitied -- but now, after listening to him speak as an orc, even think as an orc, Bilbo was not so sure he had been right to do so. 

“You are a strange creature,” he murmured to himself. Kili, apparently in the process of trying to swallow an apple whole, tore his attention away from the other dwarves and gave Bilbo a questioning look. 

“Never mind,” Bilbo said. “Never mind.”

\----

By the time Bilbo actually got around to eating something, there was hardly anything left on the tray but crumbs and a small lake of spilled soup. Even the apple core was gone, Kili apparently happy to eat anything and everything that he could chew. To make matters worse, once Bilbo made it back to the table he realised he had managed to misplace the bread knife in his distraction, and he had to beg Beorn for another one. All in all, the dwarves were laying out their bedrolls by the time he finally got some food in his stomach, and the soup was very definitely cold. 

Bilbo made the best of it, sitting at the abandoned table and making his way through the leftovers. When he was almost finished, Balin slipped in through the door, an empty tray of his own in his hands. He shared a look with Dwalin, murmuring something in the dwarven tongue and shaking his head sadly. Bilbo looked down at his plate and hoped the weather did not turn too chill overnight.

He was making his way back through the maze of bedrolls when Bofur caught his attention with a wave. 

“Me and the lads, we were talking,” he said, “and we thought, since young Kili doesn't have anything to sleep on, well.” He held out a warm-looking woollen blanket. 

“Oh,” Bilbo said, “very kind. Thank you.” He took the blanket from Bofur, wondering when he had become officially in charge of Kili in the company's eyes. He was turning to go when Bombur suddenly appeared from behind his brother, holding out an enormous flannel undershirt.

“It's not a blanket,” he said, “but it'll do in a pinch.” 

“Yes,” Bilbo said, and held out his arms for the undershirt, “if you don't need it, then certainly--”

“I've got a lovely jumper I'm not using!” Ori said, popping up out of nowhere and proffering said jumper, which Bilbo would have described more as _hideous_ than _lovely_ , and Bilbo realised he would not be permitted to leave until he had been thoroughly buried under a pile of furs, blankets and anything and everything warm that the dwarves could find in their packs. Finally, when his arms ached and he could no longer see over the pile of assorted clothing, Bofur slapped him on the shoulder.

“You're a good lad, Bilbo,” he said, and Bilbo managed not to glare.

He staggered back over to Kili and set to constructing an odd sort of bed on the floor. By the time he had used all the clothes and blankets he'd been given, it looked more like a nest than anything simple and dwarvish, but it would have to do, he supposed. He looked up at Kili, who was watching him with some interest, and gestured at it.

“Right,” he said. “Bed.”

Kili looked at the bed and then back at Bilbo.

“Sleep,” said Bilbo. “You know.” He closed his eyes and laid his head on his hands like they were a pillow. “Sleep.”

Kili mouthed the word, then nodded, nestling himself further back into the corner. Bilbo frowned.

“No,” he said, pointing again at the bed, “you're supposed to sleep here.”

Kili eyed the bed again, but he made no move towards it. Bilbo gave an exasperated sigh. It had truly been a long day, and he had reached the point of exhaustion where he was constantly on the verge of shouting and stamping his feet like a child. “Kili,” he said, more sharply than perhaps was warranted, and reached over to tug the little dwarf to the bed. He manhandled him until he was lying down, wrapped in blankets, and Kili did not struggle, but simply let himself be manoeuvred into position. 

“There,” said Bilbo. “Now go to sleep.” And he threw himself down on his own bedroll and determinedly closed his eyes.

Sleep, though, was long in coming, despite the fact that every part of Bilbo's body ached for it. The sound of the rest of the company snoring and mumbling was something he'd grown used to over the past weeks and months, had come even to look forward to, for it meant that they were safe. But now every whistling sigh or snort grated across his nerves, and he tossed and turned and finally opened his eyes in frustration, only to see that Kili's bed, just inches from his own, was empty.

Bilbo sat up, heart thundering. But his worry was short-lived, for Kili had not gone far -- he sat once again in his corner, his back to the wall, head nodding on his chest. Bilbo blinked at him, and then remembered him sleeping with his back to a tree, and nodding sitting up by the fire. Bilbo knew that orcs slept lying down, for he had seen more sleeping orcs than he had a care to, but their prisoners -- well, all Bilbo knew of orc prisoners was the one sitting before him now, and he certainly seemed to be determined to sit up if he could.

Bilbo sighed and disentangled himself from his blanket. He picked up the first item from Kili's bed that came to hand -- Ori's ugly jumper, as it happened -- and draped it over Kili's chest. Kili started at the touch, his eyes flying open and his hands coming up to defend himself, but Bilbo stroked his arm soothingly. 

“Just me,” he said. “Nothing to be scared of.”

Kili frowned at him, and Bilbo picked up a blanket -- Oin's, he thought -- and wrapped it around him. Then he laid Bombur's undershirt over the top. Another blanket and two jackets, and Kili started to slowly disappear under the layers of clothes. By the time Bilbo was done, he was little more than a face blinking confusedly out of a cocoon of wool and fur.

“Well,” Bilbo said, sitting back on his heels, “at least you won't get cold.”

And he went back to his bedroll and slept the sleep of the dead.

\----

When Bilbo next opened his eyes, the fire had burned down to embers and the sky was grey outside the windows. He burrowed back into his blankets and closed his eyes again, but sleep had well and truly deserted him, and eventually he was forced to give up on it and sit up. He was reminded of the last time he had woken in Beorn's house -- it had been almost dawn then, too, and Bilbo had watched Fili creep out of the door and had followed him. If he had not done so, perhaps all of this mess could have been avoided.

If he had not done so, Fili would have been killed on the first day and Kili would still be a prisoner of the orcs.

Bilbo rubbed his eyes and swallowed a yawn, then glanced around. The dwarves were all still asleep, some of them snoring with rather disgusting enthusiasm. Fili had come in some time during the night, and slept restlessly a few paces away from Bilbo, one arm flung out towards his brother. Even closed, his eyes looked red-raw, and his face was shadowed with trouble. Of Thorin there was no sign.

Getting to his feet, Bilbo turned to see that he was not the only one awake, after all. Kili was watching him from his corner, his face alert enough that he had probably woken some time ago. He had thrown off some of the furs and blankets during the night, and now sat ringed with dwarven detritus. Bilbo managed a smile and sat down next to him rather heavily -- or as heavily as a hobbit can sit down, anyway.

“I really thought that Gandalf would be able to solve everything,” he said. “I don't know why.” Except that Gandalf always seemed to have the solution. Gandalf had saved them from the trolls, Gandalf had led them to Rivendell, Gandalf had brought the dwarves to Bilbo's door in the first place. If Gandalf couldn't help Kili, then how was anyone else to have a chance?

Kili regarded him for a moment, then turned his eyes to the room at large. He pointed at Bofur, who slept halfway across the invisible line, little visible of him under his hat but moustache.

“Dwarf,” he said quietly.

Bilbo frowned. “Yes,” he said, and nodded. He had thought they had already been through this.

“Yes,” Kili repeated immediately. “Yes.”

Bilbo felt a small smile creep its way onto his face. “Very good,” he said.

Kili made a gesture then which seemed to encompass all the sleeping dwarves. “Dwarf?” he said, and turned to look at Bilbo.

“Dwarves,” Bilbo said, and held up a finger. “One dwarf.” He held up a second finger. “Two dwarves.”

“Dwarfs,” Kili said. “Yes.”

Despite himself, Bilbo found himself chuckling. “Yes, they are dwarves,” he said.

“Therr dwarfs,” Kili muttered, as if to himself, and then pointed at Bilbo. “Therr dwarf?” he said. 

Bilbo frowned at him. “I'm a hobbit,” he said.

Kili cocked his head on one side. “Mahobbit,” he said.

“No, hobbit,” Bilbo said, starting to feel a little frustrated. Surely it was obvious he was not a dwarf? “Hobbit.”

“Hobbit,” Kili said. He stared at Bilbo thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, and pointed at himself. “I'm a hobbit.” He pointed at Kili. “You're a dwarf.”

Kili seemed to think about this, then laid his palm on his own chest. “Yurr dwarf,” he said, and then pointed at Bilbo. “I'm hobbit.”

Bilbo took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was going to be another long day.

\----

Verbs were tricky creatures, Bilbo reflected. He had a vague memory of his schooling many years ago in the Shire, and he had always rather prided himself on his facility with language. Still, it took him an embarrassingly long time to explain to Kili the difference between _am_ and _are_ , and how _you_ and _I_ fitted together with them. It seemed as though Black Speech had no way of saying any of these things, and Bilbo started to wonder if there were any words in that language at all, or if it was just a series of guttural sounds which all meant _murder_ and _filth_. Gandalf would have been the obvious person to explain, of course, but he was nowhere to be found (as usual), and Bilbo was loath to leave the task half-done. So it was that dawn found them seated still in the corner, with Bilbo repeating _I am a dwarf. You are a dwarf. He is a dwarf._ and Kili following along and seeming as though he mostly understood. 

It wasn't until Kili pointed at him and said _no you are dwarf_ that Bilbo realised again how odd it was that they were having this conversation at all.

“Can't you tell?” he said to Kili. “Look at me! I am far too short to be a dwarf, for one thing.”

Kili gave him a blank look, and Bilbo tried a different tack. “Look,” he said, and tucked his hair behind his ears, pointing at them. “Hobbit ears.” He pointed at Kili's own ears. “Dwarf ears.”

Kili's hands went to his ears, and ran his fingers along them as if he had never thought about them before and did not really know what they looked like. And then, of course, it all became obvious to Bilbo. 

“Well,” he breathed, “well I never.” He pointed at Kili. “Stay there a moment,” he said, and jumped to his feet.

He found what he was looking for by the high basin where Beorn washed his hands, and, after some effort and a really rather hazardous climb up the legs of the basin-stand, he managed to get it down. He hurried back to Kili's side and handed him the silvery glass, turning it over impatiently in his hands when Kili tried to look into the wrong side.

“Look,” he said. “It's you.”

Kili peered into the mirror, reached out to touch its surface, and then stopped, startled. He frowned, moving his hand cautiously, and when the image in the mirror moved its hand, too, his eyes grew round. Bilbo came and stood behind him, waving at himself in the mirror. Kili just stared, his hand going to his chin, feeling along it. Bilbo didn't know whether to smile or weep, for the astounded look on Kili's face was certainly comical, but the reasons behind it -- well, Bilbo had had quite enough of thinking about the reasons behind everything, in truth, for all that ever brought was heartache, and so he abandoned that line of thought and chuckled, then pointed.

“Look,” he said firmly. “Dwarf ears.”

Kili glanced at him, then turned the mirror so he could see his left ear more clearly. He pushed his hair out of the way and ran his fingertips along it. He turned, peering at Bilbo's ears, and then laid the mirror down and crawled over to where his brother lay sleeping, hovering over him as he inspected the ear that stuck out through his braids. Then he crawled back to Bilbo and frowned into the mirror again. 

“ _Khozd shrakhun_ dwarf,” he said.

Bilbo glanced around quickly, but Beorn was nowhere to be seen. “No,” he said, keeping his voice very low. “Not _shrakhun_. _Khozd_.” He pointed at Kili. “Dwarf.” 

He watched as Kili seemed to think about this. How was it possible that the little creature didn't even seem to understand what a dwarf was? He had been called by that ugly name for years -- had he somehow never known what it meant?

And then again, when Bilbo thought about it, it made a certain deal of sense. There had been dwarves in the Misty Mountains many years ago, he knew, and in Erebor, of course. But they were all gone, now, and those that remained up in the Iron Hills kept to themselves and rarely ventured this far south. Was it possible, Bilbo wondered, for Kili to have been dragged around the wildlands for twenty-five years and never to have seen another dwarf?

Kili set the mirror down and stared hard at Bilbo. “I'm dwarf,” he said. “Yes?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo.

One step at a time.

\----

Dwarves were not particularly good at hiding. They were too broad and heavy, and seemed to neither notice nor care about the amount of noise they made as they trampled through underbrush. Perhaps it was because they were raised underground, Bilbo pondered, where there was no underbrush to be troubled by. Perhaps a dwarf in a mine was as quiet as a hobbit in the forest.

No, he decided. That didn't seem very likely.

All the same, it took him at least ten minutes to locate Thorin, and he was beginning to worry that the dwarf had done something ridiculous like run off to the wildlands to kill every orc he could find -- after all, these things often ran in families -- when he finally spied a brooding figure in the far corner of one of Beorn's bee-orchards, dark against the sunny greenery as if the very sunlight could not brighten him. Honestly, Bilbo thought, if he ever again got to spend a whole day without dealing with grumpy dwarves, he would most certainly throw some sort of party.

He sat down next to Thorin with a thump, paying no attention to his own dignity and hoping thus to puncture a little of Thorin's.

“Lovely morning, isn't it?” he said, and held out the plate that he carried.

Thorin ignored him. Bilbo waggled the plate in front of him, and Thorin gave a great sigh.

“I am not hungry,” he said.

“Come, now,” Bilbo replied. “When was the last time you ate?” 

Thorin shot him a look, then, full of thunder. “Some of us think of things other than our stomachs, master burglar,” he said. 

Bilbo set the plate down between them. “Well, some of us realise that if we don't think of our stomachs occasionally, we will waste away and die, and then what use will we be to anyone?” he snapped. 

“You would do well to mind your tone, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin said then, and Bilbo, who had quite forgotten in his irritation just who he was talking to, found himself feeling rather as though someone had crushed him like an ant. He looked down at his feet, swinging above the grass.

“All right,” he said. “All right, I will mind my tone. But none of this is doing anyone any good, Thorin.” He kept his eyes fixed on his feet, for he could feel Thorin's scowl burning a hole in him, and he knew if he looked up he would lose his nerve. “It is no use for you to be so angry all the time.”

“And what would you have me do instead?” Thorin asked. “Would you have me weep? Would you have me tear my beard and scar my arms in shame?”

Bilbo did look up then. “Shame?” he said. “But you have done nothing wrong!”

“You are right in one thing,” Thorin said. “I have done nothing. I have done nothing for twenty-five years, and now it is too late and there is nothing to be done.”

“Thorin, no.” Bilbo found himself wringing his hands. “There is no blame to be laid here.”

“Oh, there is blame,” Thorin said. “There is blame, master hobbit, and all know on whose head it falls.”

Bilbo shook his head. “The orcs--” 

“Do not speak to me of orcs!” Thorin cried, rising to his feet and glowering at Bilbo with force enough to make him almost fall from the bench. But then his shoulders dropped, and he turned away. “In fact,” he said, “it would be better if you did not speak to me at all.”

Bilbo opened and closed his mouth, but he could think of no words, and so he slipped abruptly from the bench.

“You should eat,” he said, gesturing weakly at the food he had brought. “Keep your strength up.”

Thorin did not look at him, and after a moment's silence, Bilbo crept quietly away.

\----

Inside the hall, all was bustle and cheer as the dwarves prepared breakfast for themselves. Beorn was nowhere to be seen -- perhaps he was with Gandalf, for the two of them seemed to be absent far more often than they were present -- but that did not prevent the company from providing themselves with food and drink. If anything, it made them merrier and less ill at ease.

Kili still sat in his corner, but Fili was now awake, sitting on his bedroll and staring into space. He did not join in the activities of his kinsmen, nor seem even to notice when they tossed good-natured comments his way. Bilbo found that some blessed soul had made a great pot of tea, and he poured two cups and brought them over to Fili. It seemed that he was always ferrying food and drink to miserable dwarves these days, but offering food was something Bilbo felt quite comfortable with, and indeed it made him feel almost at home.

“Good morning,” he said, standing by Fili and holding out one of the cups.

Fili did not respond. He looked as though he had been wrung out to dry, deep shadows under his bloodshot eyes, and he stared into the middle distance, his mouth set in a hard line. 

“Fili,” Bilbo said, and when there was still no answer, he nudged the young dwarf with his foot. 

Fili started and looked up at him. “Oh,” he said, “hello.” He took the cup from Bilbo's hands, and Bilbo sat down next to him.

“I don't suppose you know where Gandalf has gone?” he asked.

Fili didn't reply, and after a moment, Bilbo turned to look at him. He was gazing vaguely at a nearby stool, both hands wrapped around his cup, and gave no sign that he had heard Bilbo's question.

“Fili?” said Bilbo. “Are you all right?” He put a hand on Fili's arm, and Fili blinked.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Were you talking to me?” 

Bilbo frowned at him. “I asked if you know where Gandalf is,” he said.

Fili just stared at him a moment, then shook his head. “What?” he asked, as though Bilbo had said something nonsensical. Bilbo felt his heart twist a little within him.

“It doesn't matter,” he said, and Fili went back to staring at nothing. Bilbo sat for a little longer, but there was something suffocating about being inside, even in such a large hall, as though the air itself were too thick. He rose to his feet.

“I'll just leave you to it, then, shall I?” he said to Fili, and when Fili made no acknowledgement, he sighed and made for the door. At least there would be air outside.

\----

Bilbo found himself wandering the greensward within Beorn's great fence, staying well away from the orchard where he knew Thorin still sat and brooded. Even with that constraint, there was a great deal of space and air and sunlight, and no threat of orcs nor yet of any dangerous thing, save perhaps the bees and of course Thorin himself. Eventually, he found himself a sunny spot beneath an apple tree and settled there to drink his tea and smoke a pipe, out of sight or sound of anyone who could damage his fragile peace.

At least until Gandalf arrived.

“Good morning,” the old wizard said, towering over Bilbo and casting a shadow across him. Bilbo stared up at him and sighed.

“Not really,” he said, remembering just such a sunny morning many days ago outside his own cosy home. He should have sent the wizard packing then. (Except he had, and look how much good that had done.)

Gandalf lowered himself to sit beside Bilbo and put a large hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “How is Kili?”

Bilbo snorted into his pipe. “Kili barely even knows he is a dwarf,” he said. “Thorin speaks nothing but rage and Fili does not speak at all.” He put his cup down and lowered his head into his hands. “This is all such a terrible mess, Gandalf. Can you not do something?”

Gandalf's hand gripped him tightly. “I cannot go back and change what happened, if that's what you mean,” he said.

“No, of course not,” Bilbo said, and then peeked up at Gandalf from between his fingers. “You definitely can't do that?”

Gandalf smiled sadly at him, and Bilbo sat up. “But maybe you can help Thorin,” he said. “He is so angry. He listens to you. Well, more than he does to me, anyway.”

“And what would you replace his anger with?” Gandalf asked. 

Bilbo frowned. “I don't understand.”

“Even if I were able to take Thorin's anger away, what do you think would be left to him then?” Gandalf said. “This dwarf who abandoned his sister's child to the tender mercies of the orcs for so many years.”

“Oh, no, this is ridiculous,” Bilbo said. “That wasn't his fault! He didn't know, he couldn't have known.”

“And do you think that that will absolve him in his own mind?” Gandalf asked. 

Bilbo stared at the ground. No, he thought. No, of course it wouldn't, for dwarves were stubborn in all things, and Thorin the most stubborn of them all.

“No, my dear Bilbo,” Gandalf said, “I think we must let Thorin have his anger. I fear it is the only thing that keeps him drawing breath.”

“And what about Kili?” said Bilbo. “Who's going to look after him while his uncle rages at the world?”

“Ah,” Gandalf said, and then said nothing more until Bilbo turned to see him looking rather expectant.

“No,” Bilbo said. “Gandalf, don't look at me that way.”

“It is a heavy burden,” Gandalf said, “and you have carried it far further than anyone could have asked or expected. If you wish to lay it down, then no-one will blame you.”

Bilbo closed his eyes. “I'm not even kin,” he said. “I'm a stranger to him.”

“Perhaps,” Gandalf said. “And perhaps you know him better than anyone who now walks this earth.”

Bilbo did not reply, and Gandalf did not press him. He could feel the sun warm on his skin, hear the merry tweeting of the birds and buzzing of the bees. He could stay here, or demand the eagles take him back over the mountains, or find a way back on his own, and leave these wretched dwarves to their gold and their dragon and their endless misery.

No. No, he could not.

He opened his eyes and straightened his back. “It is not my burden,” he said, and Gandalf's face grew tired and sad. But Bilbo had not yet finished. “It is not my burden, but if there is no-one else to carry it, then I will do so.”

Gandalf smiled down at him. “Do you know, my dear Bilbo,” he said, “I do believe hobbits will never cease to surprise me.”

\----

The day was long and warm and sunny, and the dwarves took advantage of it just as Bilbo did, spreading themselves out on the grass, mending clothes and gear and singing songs to each other. Bilbo kept himself apart from them for most of the morning, still feeling irritable and put-upon, but once breakfast had passed and there had been -- glory of glories -- a second breakfast, and elevenses, and lunch as well, he began to feel a little more cheerful. Even Fili was outside now, dragged out by Bofur and Bombur to sit in the sun, although the warmth and light seemed to do little to dispel the gloom he had sunk into. In the orchard, Thorin was having a heated conversation in the dwarvish tongue with Balin and Dwalin, and everything felt almost normal.

So it was that Bilbo decided that Kili had spent enough time languishing indoors, and towards mid afternoon he plunged back into the darkness of the hall, where the little dwarf now sat alone, and tugged on his arm until he followed. Bilbo took them to some of the less crowded parts of Beorn's gardens and orchards -- and as far away from Thorin as possible -- and began to point out things and name them. Trees, flowers, bees -- some of them Kili seemed never to have seen before, or not to be able to tell apart, and Bilbo held up leaves and pointed at them and tried to explain, and Kili watched him and perhaps understood and most probably neither knew nor cared what Bilbo was talking about.

They were walking along a broad stretch of grass, and Bilbo was talking about the difference between celandines and buttercups, when Kili suddenly came to a dead halt and dropped his head, and Bilbo looked up to see Ori standing before them.

“Hello, Mr. Baggins!” Ori said, and then, a little more nervously, “Hello, Kili.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said. “Yes, hello there.”

Ori smiled at Kili. “I'm so happy you're back,” he said. “We all thought you were dead! Though I suppose you already know that.”

Kili did not move or speak, and Ori's smile took on an air of unease. “It was really horrible,” he said, and then glanced worriedly at Bilbo.

“I'm not sure--” Bilbo started, but then Ori took a step forward and reached out as if to embrace Kili, and Kili took three steps back and gave a quiet but audible growl. Ori stood frozen, hands grasping empty air, and Bilbo smiled sadly at him and patted him on the shoulder.

“Don't worry,” he said. “He does that to everyone.” 

“Ori!” Dori came hurrying up, grabbing his brother by the arm. “Don't worrit the poor lad, didn't Thorin tell you?”

“I just thought--” Ori said, but whatever it was he had thought was lost in Dori's gentle fussing, and moments later he was being led away. He looked back over his shoulder at Kili, still staring determinedly at the ground, and waved forlornly.

“Bye, then,” he called.

When the two of them were out of earshot, Bilbo sighed and pattered over to the little dwarf. 

“He was only trying to be nice,” he said. “He's your friend, you know. He won't hurt you.”

Kili didn't respond. Bilbo tried to remember what Gandalf had said the previous night. Something with a _v_. _Nar_ something. He glanced around to check that Beorn was not lurking in the hydrangeas, and then said, “ _Nar vas-- Nar vasu--_ ”

If Bilbo had wanted to attract Kili's attention, he had certainly gone about it the right way. The little dwarf was suddenly staring at him intently. “ _Nar vrasubatizish_ ,” he said, and Bilbo nodded.

“Right,” he said. “ _Nar vrasu--_ , er, _\--subtish_.” 

Kili raised his eyebrows. Bilbo felt rather wrong-footed, to find himself on the other side of the language problem. 

“Listen,” he said. “ _Vrasuburumtish_ is _kill_. _Kill_.” 

“Kili,” said Kili, sounding rather doubtful. Bilbo shook his head.

“No, _kill_ ,” he said, trying to make the ending as clear as possible. 

“Kill,” Kili repeated. “ _Vras_ \-- _kill_.”

“Yes!” said Bilbo.

“Yes,” said Kili.

“So.” Bilbo pointed after Ori and spoke very slowly. “Ori -- will -- not -- kill -- you.” Honestly, the very idea of Ori even getting up the nerve to even pinch Kili's cheeks was somewhat ridiculous, and Bilbo felt absurd, but if this was how orcs understood things, then it would have to do.

Kili looked thoughtfully in the direction Bilbo was pointing. “No kill,” he said. “Yes.”

“Exactly,” said Bilbo. “No kill.” He shook his head in frustration. “He's your _friend_ ,” he said, although he knew he might as well tell Kili that Ori was a mermaid, for all the meaning it would have to him.

“No kill,” Kili said, looking back at Bilbo. “Yes?”

Bilbo sighed. “Yes,” he said.

It would have to be enough.

\----

Towards evening, the dwarves drifted inside, and Bilbo drifted with them, shivering a little as the air began to turn chill. Balin and Thorin were still arguing over something -- had they been at it all afternoon, Bilbo wondered, and decided they probably had -- but they were speaking in low voices now and glanced often at Fili. Bilbo felt a slight lightening in his chest. At least someone other than Bilbo was paying attention to the poor lad.

He waited until there was a lull in the argument, then hastened over to Thorin, catching him just as he turned with a roll of parchment in his hand.

“Thorin,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you something.”

Thorin scowled down at him. “Yes?” he said.

“That, er.” Bilbo swallowed, and then spoke as fast as he could. “That it's not too late. I know you think it is, but it isn't.” If only he could get Thorin to see that there were things he could do to help, truly help, perhaps they begin to repair some of the damage that had been done. The damage that was still being done.

Thorin's expression did not change. Bilbo nodded and gave an absurd little bow.

“Well, that was all, anyway,” he said, and retreated as fast as he could without losing every shred of his dignity.

Thorin stood a moment as if in thought, and then strode to the table, slamming the parchment he held down onto it.

“Dwarves,” Balin cried, and all the dwarves hastily gathered around the table. Even Fili was roused from his daze by Dwalin and took his place at the opposite end from his uncle. Bilbo squeezed in between Ori and Gloin and glanced back at Kili, who watched them all from his corner.

“We have tarried longer than ever we planned, and have taken too much advantage of our friend's hospitality,” Thorin began. A murmur ran through the assembled dwarves, and Bilbo's heart began to beat a little faster. Surely he could not be thinking--?

Thorin unrolled the parchment and Bilbo saw it was the map that had led them thus far. A new image had been added to it -- a little house between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood, and it was to this house that Thorin pointed. 

“We are here,” he said, and then his finger traced a line through Mirkwood and across the Long Lake to the Lonely Mountain,“and we have many days' travel ahead. Durin's Day will not wait for us.” 

Bilbo drew in a breath, for he knew, then, what Thorin was going to say, and he knew that everything had just become even more difficult.

Thorin drew himself up and addressed the company, though he looked only at Fili.

“Tomorrow, we ride for Erebor,” he said.


	11. Chapter 11

Thorin's announcement was followed by an excited rumble from the assembled company, and then questions, the route, the supplies, the ponies, most of which were answered by Balin. It was clear the two of them had planned it all carefully: they would pass through Mirkwood to Laketown, which apparently was some kind of village built actually on the water of a lake, and from there to the Lonely Mountain. It all sounded suspiciously like it was going to involve boats -- possibly even houses built on boats, although that seemed rather implausible (not to mention horrifying) -- and Bilbo was certainly not looking forward to that.

But Bilbo was also not very clear on whether he would be expected to go. It seemed odd that Thorin would lay out this plan without any mention of what had happened in the last few days, and Bilbo caught some of the company glancing uneasily at Kili in the corner and knew he was not the only one who thought so. But be that as it may, none of them mentioned it -- not even Fili, although he asked no questions at all and seemed barely to be listening -- and so it was that, when everyone had calmed down a little and begun to drift away from the table, Bilbo found himself approaching Thorin once more. 

“Er,” he said. He always found that _er_ made an excellent opening statement.

Thorin looked up from the map. “What is it now?”

“What about Kili?” Bilbo said. 

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “What is it you wish to know about Kili?”

“I mean,” Bilbo said, “what are you going to do with him?” They could leave him at Beorn's, he supposed, but he couldn't imagine Beorn would take too kindly to that. And then what about Bilbo? Was he to go with Kili, or with the company?

“Kili will come with us,” Thorin said, rolling up the map and turning to tuck it back into his pack. 

Bilbo felt his mouth fall slightly open. “Are you serious?” he said.

Thorin turned back, then, and gave Bilbo a long look. “When have you ever known me to be anything else, Mr. Baggins?” he said.

“But,” Bilbo shook his head, “he's not well!”

“He is physically able, so far as I can ascertain,” Thorin said. “I have no doubt he has been used to travelling long distances with --” He stopped, and then turned away from Bilbo. “You should be attending to your own business,” he said. “There is much to do if we are to be ready on the morrow.”

He started away from the table, then, and Bilbo went to follow him, already forming another protest in his mind, but he was prevented by a gentle hand on his arm. He turned to see Balin smiling at him sadly.

“There's no point arguing,” he said. “His mind's already made up.”

“But it's ridiculous!” Bilbo said.

“Is it?” Balin asked. “What would you do, in his place?”

“Well, I would send Kili somewhere safe rather than dragging him through a perilous forest and onto who knows what manner of boats--” here Bilbo shuddered “--and ending up in a cave with a dragon. That's what I would do!”

“You would, aye,” Balin said. “And where would you send him that's safe?”

“Back to his family, I suppose,” Bilbo said. Balin raised his eyebrows, and Bilbo hastily added, “His mother, I mean. She must miss him terribly.”

“Back to the Blue Mountains, then,” Balin said. “Would you send him through Goblintown? Or maybe just over the High Pass? Maybe the stone giants have finished their quarrel by now.”

Bilbo started to feel rather foolish. “Well, I wouldn't send him alone,” he said.

“And who would you send with him?” Balin asked.

“Me, of course!” Bilbo said. “And, er, and Fili.” He was sure Fili would not wish to be parted from his brother, no matter what cruel things Kili had told him in Black Speech.

“You and Fili,” Balin said, stroking his beard. “So that's one well-trained dwarf and one burglar to keep an eye on him all the way from here to the Blue Mountains, is it, aye?”

Oh, yes, that was definitely foolishness that Bilbo felt. It crept up from somewhere around his toes, and when it reached his face it kindly heated his cheeks for him. 

“Well,” he said. “I mean, I certainly do see what you're saying, that it isn't -- But surely there's something else that can be done?”

Balin chuckled. “Don't you worry your head, master hobbit, that lad's safer with us than he would be anywhere,” he said. “We'll none of us let anything happen to him. And besides, I imagine it'll be another twenty-five years before Thorin lets him out of his sight again.”

That was not quite what Bilbo had expected, and he glanced at Thorin, who stood now deep in conversation with Gloin on the other side of the room. He did not seem particularly interested in paying attention to Kili, nor had he since the disastrous bath and the revelations that followed it. But Bilbo didn't pretend to understand Thorin -- nor, most of the time, did he want to. 

“And Fili?” he said. “He's not in -- perfect health himself.” He did not really know how to describe what was wrong with Fili, but that something was wrong there was no doubt.

Balin sighed. “It will do Fili good to get back on the road,” he said. “Give him something to think about other than his brother.”

So they had talked about it, then, and that was what they had decided. Privately, Bilbo doubted that any kind of adventure, be it never so filled with peril and excitement, would induce Fili to think about anything but his brother. In fact, remembering how the young dwarf had been up until the moment they found Kili, the air of melancholy thoughtfulness that hung always around him, Bilbo wondered if Fili had really thought about anything else for the last twenty-five years.

But, as Balin said, the decision was made, and it seemed that Bilbo would not be able to make any of them see sense. It certainly didn't help matters that he had no coherent plan of his own, only a sense of impending disaster. It had been his experience that impending disaster was something that dwarves liked to run towards full tilt, and so he simply nodded at Balin and decided that from then on he would keep his thoughts to himself.

\----

The evening passed much like the day had, although the general feeling of the company had changed from cheerful idleness to suppressed excitement. It seemed that all had been feeling rather constrained by the days of rest at Beorn's, and Bilbo wondered once more at dwarves and their desire to run from food and warmth and comfort into the arms of darkness and uncertainty. On the other hand, these dwarves had been sitting idle for some days now, with the exception of whatever searching they had done for Fili and Bilbo, while Bilbo himself had spent days wandering lost in the wildlands and had had little but worry and sleeplessness since his return. He supposed that, well-rested and well-fed and with the triumph of Kili's unexpected return, they felt ready to take on Smaug himself.

It seemed, however, that Bilbo was not the only member of the company who was not enthused by the prospect of marching onwards. Fili worked at preparing his gear as they all did, but he seemed barely more conscious of his actions than he had all day, and there was a distant look in his eyes that tugged at Bilbo's heart. More than once, Bilbo tried to talk to him, but Fili -- if he answered at all -- spoke only a few words and those listlessly and without inflection. If Thorin and Balin hoped to shake him from his malaise with the resumption of the quest, Bilbo was afraid their plan would not succeed.

Dinner and supper passed away, and this time Bilbo managed to eat before everything was cold, and taught Kili words for various types of food into the bargain. The other dwarves stayed in the other half of the hall, as they had the night before, and Thorin stayed with them this time, planning with Balin, preparing his gear, or simply deep in thought. A few times Bilbo caught him looking at Kili, but he never stepped over the invisible line, and Bilbo wondered what he was thinking of and decided it was probably all dragons and gold.

When it came time to sleep, Bilbo wrapped Kili in his blankets and furs and went to his own bed, sure that he would be kept awake once again, this time by thoughts of their journey on the morrow. But he fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, and he didn't wake until he had the distinct feeling of someone stepping over him.

Bilbo opened his eyes to near darkness. The fire was low and glowing, and outside the windows all was still black. There was enough light, though, to see that the hulking figure who had stepped over him was Dwalin, and that he now stood looming over Kili in the corner. Bilbo sat up, opening his mouth to ask Dwalin what he was doing, only to see that Kili's face was twisted in pain, his jaw clenched, and he silently wrung the blankets with his fingers until they were white and bloodless. His eyes, though, were still closed, and in a moment Bilbo realised that Kili was not in pain at all, but only dreaming that he was. 

And then Dwalin reached down to shake him by the shoulder, murmuring words that were too low for Bilbo to make out, and in a moment everything changed. 

At Dwalin's touch, Kili surged upwards from his nest of blankets, eyes snapping open and flashing in the firelight. Something else flashed, too, and Bilbo found his own eyes widening in astonishment as he recognised one of Fili's knives. One of Fili's knives which now gleamed in Kili's hand, the blade pressed against Dwalin's throat.

They stood frozen like that a moment, Dwalin with his hands raised and empty, Kili, eyes huge, holding the knife in one hand and with the other fisted before his chest. Blood beaded around the knife where it pressed into Dwalin's flesh, and Dwalin cleared his throat.

“Come now, laddie,” he said. “It was only a dream.”

Kili moved, then, but Dwalin moved faster, one huge hand coming up to wrap around Kili's wrist, spinning him round and dragging the knife away from Dwalin's throat. Dwalin's other arm looped around Kili's chest, pinning him against Dwalin with Kili's back against Dwalin's own mountainous chest. Kili struggled silently, trying to hook his foot around Dwalin's ankle to fell him, and, when that yielded no results, kicking backwards with all his might and twisting his wrist in Dwalin's grip to try and get free. Dwalin lifted him bodily from the ground and carried him, struggling and thrashing, over to the table, where he pushed Kili face-down onto the table-top -- though more gently than Bilbo had thought it was possible to do such a thing -- and slammed his wrist repeatedly on the wood until Kili had no choice but to let the knife go. Then he calmly twisted Kili's wrist up behind his back and turned to Bilbo. 

“Get me some water, would you?” he said.

The whole incident had taken only minutes, and had occurred almost entirely in silence, and it seemed that it had not been enough to wake any of the other dwarves, save one. Fili now sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes and squinting to see what had caused him to wake. When he did see it, though, all signs of sleep left him in an instant.

“Kili!” he cried, and the shout was enough to cause several of the sleeping dwarves to groan, but more importantly, it drew Dwalin's attention, and Kili chose that moment to twist sharply under Dwalin's hands and sink his teeth into Dwalin's meaty forearm. 

Dwalin cursed, more from surprise than pain, Bilbo suspected, although blood was running down his arm, and he let up his grip on Kili for long enough for the little dwarf to writhe out from underneath him. Bilbo shouted a warning, but it was too late, for Kili had grabbed the knife and now ran along the table and threw himself at the door, flinging it open with a bang and disappearing into the night.

“Catch him!” Fili cried, and then all was pandemonium as twelve dwarves and one hobbit tried to disentangle themselves from their blankets and each other and all fit through the door at the same time. Bilbo, who had the advantage both of having already been on his feet and of being smaller and more nimble than the rest, found himself the first out of doors, and he snatched up Beorn's lantern, his heart in his mouth as he ran to see if the gate was closed.

The sturdy wooden barrier loomed up before him out of the dark, and Bilbo took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before turning and swinging the lantern, trying to see where Kili might have gone. He must still be inside the fence, but Beorn's gardens and orchards were extensive, and there were many places a little dwarf might hide. He ran along the fence, aware that there were more lights, now, bobbing in different directions, the dwarves scattering to find their lost companion. A voice that sounded like Ori's called Kili's name, and was resoundingly shushed. Bilbo shifted the lantern to his other hand and hurried on.

Whether it was sheer luck or the fact that it was he who had shown Kili the grounds earlier, it was Bilbo who came upon him first. Pattering through a cherry orchard, he saw a shadow move out of the corner of his eye, and he turned sharply to see Kili trying to scale the fence that stood behind the trees. Bilbo let out a squeak and hurried over, forgetting in his relief that Kili had last been seen doing violence to a much larger creature than Bilbo, and he barely avoided getting his head sliced off when Kili dropped to the ground at his approach and swung wildly with the knife that he still clutched in his hand. Bilbo fell back hurriedly, and Kili stood half-crouched before him and snarled, his teeth still stained with Dwalin's blood.

“Kili,” Bilbo whispered. “It's me. It's Bilbo.”

Whatever Kili replied, Bilbo did not understand it, for it was Black Speech, and somehow harsher and more dangerous-sounding than anything that Bilbo had heard in that tongue since he had last heard it spoken by orcs themselves. His stomach turned over in dread, and he raised the hand that wasn't carrying the lantern in supplication.

“Don't,” he said. “Oh, don't!” 

But the Black Speech had not fallen only on Bilbo's ears. There came a shout from further away, and then another light moving towards them at speed, as if the bearer was running. Kili growled and darted to one side, but his progress was arrested by Dwalin, who barrelled into him at full tilt and sent him tumbling to the ground. Kili writhed, stumbling to his feet and slashing at Dwalin with the knife, and Dwalin grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back, and then Fili was there, too, crashing into the circle of lamplight and punching Dwalin hard in the face.

“Get off him!” he cried.

Dwalin let go of Kili's hair and staggered backwards, eyes widening. “Don't be a fool--” he said, but it was too late for Fili not to be a fool, for Kili had an arm around his chest and a knife to his neck. 

Bilbo's hands flew to his mouth, his lantern forgotten on the ground. He became aware that the rest of the dwarves had all arrived, and now they stood ranged in a tense semi-circle, blocking Kili's way out. No-one spoke, and Kili's eyes darted from face to face, wide and frantic.

“Kili.” It was Thorin, his voice even as though he did not see what Bilbo saw. “Let your brother go.”

Kili's eyes went to him for a moment, then skittered away. He was shaking, Bilbo saw, the knife trembling against Fili's throat.

“Mr. Baggins,” Ori piped up. “You talk to him. He listens to you.”

Bilbo took his hands away from his mouth, although he had to open and close it several times before he could persuade any sound to come out. “Kili,” he croaked. “It's all right. Come on.”

Kili shook his head rapidly, dragging Fili backwards until they stood against the fence. Bilbo raised his hands.

“No kill,” he whispered.

Kili's eyes snapped to him. “ _Vrasubta_ ,” he said, his voice cracking. “ _Vrasubta, vrasubta!_ ”

What came over Bilbo then, he would never know. But he took a step forward, his hands still raised, and then another, and he did not heed the dwarves who hissed at him to stay where he was. Instead he walked forward until he was an arm's length from Fili, and Kili stared at him the whole way, but did not move away. When Bilbo was close enough, he shook his head.

“No kill,” he said, and pointed at Fili. “Brother.”

Kili bared his teeth, glancing around as if he hoped that somehow a way out had appeared. But there was nothing but a wall of silent dwarves, and he let out a growl that was more than half a sob. Bilbo reached out slowly and laid a hand over Kili's, feeling the warmth of Fili's throat against the backs of his fingers.

“It's all right,” he said, curling his fingers around Kili's hand, feeling how tightly he held the knife. “Just let it go.”

And, somewhat to his astonishment, Kili did.

The knife fell to the ground, landing on the grass with a dull thud, and Kili sank down after it, falling to his knees and bowing his head. He made no move to pick up the knife again, but Dwalin had already snatched it from the ground and stowed it in his belt, and then Thorin was there, dragging Fili away and into a tight embrace as the other dwarves all burst into relieved life, their questions and comments rising quickly to a feverish pitch. Bilbo staggered a pace backward and landed rather suddenly on his posterior in the grass, his legs simply refusing to hold him up any longer. He would not have believed what he had done if he had not been watching it from behind his own eyes. Now, though, he found himself on the same level as Kili, and even after all he had just witnessed, he could not bring himself to move away. Kili sat motionless, his hands on his knees and his head bowed, and Bilbo reached out and patted his arm.

“I suppose it probably won't be all right,” he said. “But at least you didn't kill your brother.”

Then Fili was pulling away from Thorin and dropping to his knees in front of his brother, reaching out to grip him by the upper arms. Dwalin growled out a warning, but Fili paid no heed.

“Kili, Kili,” he said, and then seemed overcome and unable to say anything else, and he bowed his own head so that they sat like a matched pair and seemed to be leaning towards each other in the lamplight. The other dwarves grew quiet, then, and even Dwalin did not try to intervene. 

Somewhere overhead, a bird called, a high and lonely sound, and Bilbo looked up at the stars and the moon and knew that there would be no more sleep for any of them tonight.

\----

In the end, it was Dwalin who took charge. He bound Kili's wrists, taking no heed of any of Fili's protests, and searched his clothes to find a second knife, a small one of Gloin's, hidden at his waist. He held it up before Kili, as if waiting for comment, but Kili stood silent and still and made no struggle nor even once raised his eyes from the ground.

There were three other knives concealed among Kili's nest of blankets. Two belonged to members of the company, and one was the bread knife that Bilbo had lost the evening before. Dwalin dumped them on the table without ceremony, eyes sharp under his bushy brows, blood dried now on his neck and a bruise beginning to bloom around his left eye where Fili's fist had caught him. Thorin looked on, and his face bore no expression at all.

“Are you all right, Dwalin?” Oin asked, bustling over to the table with a bowl of steaming water and a clean cloth. “That bite looks unpleasant.”

Dwalin ignored him, looking only at Thorin. “I was never in any danger,” he said. “Fili, though.”

All eyes turned to Fili, who stared down at the table. His hair was in disarray, his undershirt slightly torn at the neck, but he had not even been cut by the knife at his throat and he bore no bruises.

“I'm fine,” he said, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

“He could have been killed,” Dwalin growled. “Thorin, that boy is not in his right mind.” He pointed to Kili, who he had bound to one of the pillars that supported the roof. “We cannot take him with us.”

“We cannot leave him here,” Thorin said. 

“I don't think he would have hurt Fili,” Ori spoke up, and then looked a little worried when everyone turned to look at him. “Well, I don't.”

“He had a knife to his neck,” Dwalin said. “What was he yelling about?”

They all turned their eyes on Bilbo then, and Bilbo raised his hands. 

“Don't look at me,” he said. “I don't speak orc.” But he did, a few words anyway, and he had recognised at least part of what Kili said. 

“Gandalf?” Thorin asked. “Did you hear it?”

“I'm afraid not, my dear fellow,” Gandalf replied from where he sat at the head of the table, but the look he cast at Bilbo was a troubled one. 

“And what do you think we should do?” Balin asked.

Gandalf sucked on his pipe and thought for a long moment. “I think the decision must be yours,” he said, which of course was not helpful in the slightest.

Dwalin put his fists on the table. “We leave him,” he said.

“We will not make this decision now,” Thorin replied. “It is late, and it has been a hard night. We will delay another day, if Master Beorn does not object. I do not think it would be auspicious to ride so soon.”

There was a general murmur of assent, and the dwarves began to fall away from the table, most of them giving Kili a wide berth, for he had been bound in the centre of the room, far away from his favoured corner. Ori stopped by him, though, standing close enough that Bilbo felt rather nervous.

“Don't worry, Kili,” he said. “I'm sure everything will turn out all right.”

Kili made no answer.

\----

Dawn found them awake and grim-faced, for the most part. A few of the dwarves had managed to doze a little, but most had tossed and turned and some had simply sat up and occupied themselves through the small hours of the night. There was wisdom indeed in Thorin's decision to delay, for it was no well-rested and eager company that sat to breakfast, and there was little talk or song at the table. Kili had spent the night under Dwalin's watchful eye, still bound to the pillar, and now Dwalin fed him, keeping his fingers well away from the little dwarf's teeth. Bilbo, suddenly stripped of all responsibility for Kili, found himself listlessly drifting from place to place and wondering what it was he used to do before. He stopped once or twice by Kili, but Dwalin glared at him and Kili did not even seem to notice he was there, so he drifted onwards.

Some time around mid-morning, Bofur sat down next to him with a smile. He looked a little the worse for wear from lack of sleep, but seemed still cheerful, and Bilbo rather envied him.

“Quite a to-do last night,” he said.

“Well, that's one way of putting it, I suppose,” Bilbo said. He sighed. “I suppose I was foolish to think that he had begun to trust us.”

“Twenty-five years is a long time,” Bofur said. “I imagine it'll be quite a while before he stops wanting to stick a knife in anyone who looks at him cross-eyed.”

“If he ever does,” Bilbo muttered. He stared at Kili, who sat as he had all through the latter part of the night and morning, still as a stone, head bowed. It was only two nights since the little dwarf had told them he thought death was a mercy, and yet Bilbo had not really taken it to heart, not then. Now, though. Now he began to realise just what that meant.

“Do you think,” he started, and then stopped, chewing on a fingernail.

“Aye, sometimes,” Bofur replied, and that drew a small laugh from Bilbo, and a twinge of gratefulness for good friends.

“Do you think it would have been better if they'd killed him?” he said. “Straight away, I mean.”

Bofur gave him a surprised look. “Who thinks that?” he asked.

“Oh, just--” Bilbo shrugged, “someone I overheard.”

Bofur frowned and glanced around the room, but he did not seem to light on a culprit, and for that Bilbo was glad. Bofur settled back on the bench, then, and chewed his pipe.

“I'm just a simple miner,” he said, “I don't know very much of anything. But I do know one thing.” He fixed Bilbo with a look, then, all cheerfulness gone from his face. “There may be some things that are worse than death, but there's not a lot that's more final.”

Bilbo nodded. “You're right,” he said. “Of course you're right. Thank you.”

“There's nothing to be thanking me for,” Bofur said. “I'm only speaking my mind. And since I'm doing that anyway, I've been thinking about having a word with young Fili.”

“Fili?” Bilbo glanced around until he saw the young dwarf, sitting in a corner of the room. Kili's corner.

“Aye,” said Bofur. “You see, the way I'm seeing things, Fili's not doing very well. Now, I don't know why that is, but nobody who does know seems to be doing much about it, so I was thinking about just going over there and asking him.” He looked at Bilbo and smiled. “You know?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo. “Yes, I think I do.”

\----

Fili looked up when Bilbo sat down next to him, though he did not smile. Still, it was more than Bilbo had had from him the day before, and he was in a mood to be grateful for small mercies. 

“He could have killed you, you know,” he said. 

“He wouldn't have,” Fili said.

Bilbo was not so sure, but he had not come there to start an argument, and so he held his tongue and simply sat by Fili's side, watching him watch his brother.

“But you are not hurt at all?” he said finally, only for something to say to break the silence.

Fili sat back with a sigh. “I am at the end of my rope, Mister Baggins,” he said. “I don't know what more I can do.” 

Bilbo had nothing to say in response to that, for he felt much the same way. But Fili was turning to him with a note of hope in his eyes. “You have taught him many things,” he said. “Surely you--?”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, “I have taught him words for flowers, and food, but I can't teach him what it is you want him to learn. He has nothing in his mind that can help him understand it.” 

“I don't believe that,” Fili said. “I will not believe it.”

They fell silent, then, and Bilbo found himself watching Kili too. The little dwarf moved not a muscle, and Bilbo wondered how he could sit so still for so very long. What did he have in his mind, that moved him to violence and fear when others sought only to give him love and help? What, Bilbo wondered, had he been dreaming of when Dwalin had shaken him awake to such disastrous consequences? How could they do anything to help him, when it seemed that he was nothing but darkness?

And then, once upon a time, Bilbo had had nothing in his mind but food and comfort and the warm hearth in his hobbit hole. And now he was halfway across the world and he was a different hobbit indeed. And Kili -- Kili had held a knife to his brother's neck, but Kili had stood between Bilbo and Thorin, Kili had learned the word for celandine though he would surely never need it, Kili had once been a dwarf child who had laughed more than any Bofur had ever known.

Perhaps Thorin was right and it was too late, Bilbo thought. But surely there was no harm in trying, even if only one more time.

“I can't teach him,” he said, “but maybe you can. Maybe you can teach him what it is to be a brother.”

Fili frowned at him. “How?” he asked.

Bilbo smiled and patted his arm.

“By being one,” he said.

\----

Dwalin rose to his feet as Fili crossed the floor towards him, Bilbo at his side. He towered, arms folded, managing somehow to be frowning down at Fili while still watching every move that Kili made (not, of course, that he made any at all). His eye was purple and black, now, and the marks of teeth stood out clearly on his hairy forearm.

“Mister Dwalin,” said Fili, and then seemed to be at a loss for words, but simply held Dwalin's gaze.

Dwalin glowered and reached a hand out, and Fili did not flinch or cringe away, but merely braced himself. But Dwalin's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed, and he gave him a gruff nod.

“You've improved, lad,” he said. “Still need to work on your blocking, though.”

Some of the tension seemed to leave Fili, then, and he nodded and gripped Dwalin's arm. “You'll have to show me again some time,” he said.

“Aye, that I will,” said Dwalin.

“Well, then,” said Fili. “And can I borrow my brother for a spell?”

Dwalin shrugged. “I don't care where he goes, so long as I go with him,” he said. “And where will you be taking him?”

Fili looked down at Kili, who had not so much as twitched a finger since they had been standing there.

“To find Gandalf,” he said.

\----

They made quite a little group, sitting out under the apple trees in the cheery sun. Gandalf was there, and Fili and Kili, of course, and Thorin had been fetched from his brooding, which Bilbo had some misgivings over. Dwalin, true to his word, had followed and not once taken his eyes off Kili, and Bilbo made six. The grass was green and the birds sang in the trees, and it was not a bit like the first time they had done this, in the dark, with the lantern casting shadows over them all. And yet, Bilbo thought, somehow the foreboding in his stomach was much the greater this time.

“Ask him why he tried to run away,” Fili said. He did not sit, but paced backwards and forwards in front of Kili, who knelt on the grass with his hands behind his back, exactly as he had the night before.

Gandalf spoke softly in Black Speech, but Kili did not raise his head nor give any other indication that he had heard, let alone understood what was being said to him. Gandalf waited a moment, and then said something else, but Kili remained still and silent, just as he had all that day.

“Gandalf?” Fili asked. 

“I have asked him,” Gandalf said. “You have seen his response.”

Fili shook his head. “Ask him again,” he said. “Tell him he must answer.”

Once again Gandalf spoke, and once again, Kili did not stir. Bilbo felt a cold feeling begin to creep through his stomach, for it was truly unsettling to watch the little dwarf sit as though carved from stone. Had he then lost his mind all together after the events of the previous night? Was there anything left of him at all?

But then Dwalin spoke, his voice deep and rumbling. “Ask him why he does not speak,” he said.

“ _Amat nar flas?_ ” Gandalf asked.

Kili did not look up, nor even seem to move his lips, but he spoke one word, quiet and hoarse. “ _Fauth_ ,” he said.

“He says he is waiting,” said Gandalf. 

“Ask what he waits for,” Fili said, and Gandalf translated the question.

“ _Danojizish_ ,” said Kili.

Gandalf drew in a long breath. “He is waiting to be punished,” he said.

A silence fell across them, then, and even Fili stopped pacing and simply stared at his brother. Kili made no move, and finally it was Thorin who spoke up, rising from the bench.

“Tell him Dwalin and Fili shall decide his punishment, since it was they who were most injured by his actions,” he said.

Both Dwalin and Fili looked at Thorin in some surprise, as too did Bilbo, but Gandalf relayed the question and Thorin simply looked back at them all and nodded.

“Dwalin,” he said. “You will take the first turn.”

Dwalin frowned, but then he turned back to Kili and drew a knife from his belt. Kili twitched, though had he not been so unsettlingly still all day Bilbo would not even have noticed it, so small was the movement. But he did not look up, nor speak, though he seemed to bow his head even further when Dwalin moved to crouch behind him.

Dwalin bowed his own head a moment, then took Kili's bound wrists in his hand and cut through the rope that held them. He crouched there a moment, both of Kili's wrists held in one great hand, and then he stood, tucking the knife back into his belt.

“He has no skill at fighting,” he said to Thorin, as if continuing some earlier conversation. “And I will keep my eyes on him.”

“See that you do,” was all Thorin said.

Dwalin stepped away from Kili, and Kili did move, then, glancing up at him with an expression of doubt and confusion. But when Fili stepped forward, he dropped his head again, and though his arms were free he kept them behind his back. Fili crouched before him and raised a hand towards his face, but seemed to think the better of it and lowered it to his side again.

“Ask him to look at me,” he said to Gandalf.

“ _Honta_ ,” said Gandalf, and after a moment's hesitation, Kili lifted his head. He wore no expression, and his eyes seemed blank.

“Ask him if he'll try to hurt any of us again,” Fili said.

Gandalf spoke, and something flickered in Kili's eyes.

“ _Nar_ ,” he said, and then, “no.”

“Ask him to swear it to me,” said Fili.

Again, Gandalf relayed the words, and Kili frowned and seemed to be thinking.

“ _Gadhlat_ ,” he said finally. “Yes.”

Fili nodded, then, and reached out, taking Kili by the upper arms and bringing them both to their feet. “No punishment is needed,” he said, and waited for Gandalf to translate. 

“ _Nar danojubutlat_ ,” said Gandalf, and Kili looked sharply at him, eyes wide. But Fili still gripped him by the shoulders, and it was he that spoke.

“Do you understand, my brother?” he asked.

“ _Srinkshata?_ ” Gandalf said.

But the little dwarf made no reply.

\----

After that, Kili was not bound again, although Dwalin followed him like a shadow wherever he went. Bilbo, who still found Dwalin really quite unnerving, stayed away from the two of them for most of the afternoon, but Fili walked beside his brother and spoke often to him, although it seemed to Bilbo that Kili rarely replied, if indeed he ever did at all. It was not until the shadows had begun to lengthen that Thorin called Fili away, and Bilbo found Kili seated alone on a bench, Dwalin far enough away that it gave the illusion of solitude, though he still watched from a distance. Bilbo hesitated -- for the desire he felt to help the little dwarf and once more to pick up the burden he had promised Gandalf he would bear was still tempered with the memory of Kili's bloody teeth in the lamplight -- but finally he plucked up his courage, for Dwalin was watching, and Dwalin was terrifying enough to make Bilbo feel oddly safe.

“Well,” he said, plumping himself down on the bench beside Kili. “You have caused quite a palaver, and no mistake.”

For a moment, he thought Kili would not speak to him, but then the little dwarf turned and frowned.

“ _Amat_ no _danojutizish_?” he asked, and then growled as if in frustration.

“All right, all right,” Bilbo said. He supposed he could go to find Gandalf, but he thought -- he really thought perhaps he could do this alone. “Now,” he said. “ _Amat_.” he had heard it before, he knew, and he tried to remember back. They had been inside the hall, which meant it must have been before Beorn had banned Black Speech inside. What had they said?

They had said they would not kill Kili. And Kili had asked--

“Why!” Bilbo cried. “ _Amat_ is _why_.”

“Why,” said Kili. “Why no _danojutizish_ , why?”

“Ah,” Bilbo said, for he remembered the second word from earlier that day. “Punish,” he said. “You want to know why you have not been punished.”

Kili nodded. “Why no punsh?” he said. “ _Khozd shrakhun_ kill, punsh, no punsh.” He seemed almost hysterical, and Bilbo saw Dwalin rise to his feet. He waved in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and turned on the bench so he was facing Kili.

“Fili is your brother,” he said. “Dwalin is your friend.”

“No,” Kili said. “No Fili brother, no I'm is brother.”

“Why do you think that?” Bilbo asked, and when Kili just shook his head, and Bilbo tried again. “Why -- you,” he pointed at Kili, “think,” tapping his head now, “Fili not your brother?”

Kili's hands clenched on his knees, and he let out a string of Black Speech that Bilbo felt sure was nothing at all pleasant, but then he drew a breath and seemed to calm himself.

“Think,” he said, and tapped his own head. “No Fili here.”

“You don't remember him,” Bilbo said. “But that is because you've forgotten, not because he was never there.” Which, of course, was far too much for Kili, and Bilbo sighed and thought about it. He raised his hand and tapped Kili's head.

“Fili was there,” he said. “Then orcs -- _uruk_. Orcs punish Kili, now Fili is not there. You forgot.”

Kili's lips formed a word. “Forgot,” he said. “No Fili here, forgot?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo, although in truth he had no real idea if Kili had understood or if he was just repeating words. “You forgot.”

“No punish brother,” Kili said. “Brother kill, no punish.”

“You didn't kill anyone,” Bilbo said. “You didn't even really hurt anyone, although I suppose Mr. Dwalin wasn't too pleased about the biting.” He pointed at Kili and mimed biting his own arm, then shook his head. “No biting,” he said. “Biting bad.”

“Bad,” said Kili.

“That's right,” Bilbo said. He gave a broad smile. “Good,” he said, and then frowned as deeply as he could. “Bad.”

Kili nodded slowly. “I'm is bad,” he said. “Yes?”

“No,” Bilbo said firmly. “You're is good. I mean -- drat it -- you're good. But biting is bad. And killing is bad, too.”

“No I'm kill dwarf,” Kili said suddenly, and pointed at Dwalin. “No I'm _nargzab_ kill dwarf. Dwarf good. Sleep bad. Forgot.”

“Well,” Bilbo said, a little stunned by the stream of words. “Now I'm afraid I'm the one who doesn't understand.” 

Kili stared at him, and he tried to remember the word that Gandalf had used. “ _Nar shrink_?” he said hopefully.

“ _Srinksha?_ ” Kili asked, and Bilbo nodded. 

“Understand,” he said. “I don't understand.”

“Undstan,” said Kili, and then pointed at Dwalin again and at himself, laying his head on his clasped hands. “Sleep bad,” he said again. “Forgot.”

“You had a bad dream,” Bilbo said. 

Kili nodded. “Forgot, no undstan. Sleep bad.”

“Oh, my lad,” Bilbo said. “What a mess we have all made of this.” Kili gave him a blank look, and he smiled and tried to look as reassuring as he could. “But we will find a way out of it,” he said, though he felt far less confident than he sounded.

“No I'm undstan,” Kili said.

“No.” Bilbo patted his knee. “I know you don't.”

\----

Bilbo was returning to the house when a deep voice called his name, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to see Thorin crossing the turf towards him. He waited, bracing himself for whatever was coming next, and Thorin stopped before him, looking him up and down speculatively.

“I have something to ask you, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

Bilbo hoped it was something nice. Maybe something about flowers, or cake. Although he found it hard to believe that Thorin had even noticed flowers existed, so it probably wasn't that.

“Yes?” he said.

“I have been assaulted all day with opinions on whether my nephew should come with us or be left behind,” Thorin said. “It seems everyone knows best in this matter. Fili, I'm sure you know, thinks he should come.”

“Dwalin thinks he should stay,” supplied Bilbo, wondering where all this was going. 

“Dwalin's thoughts on the matter are... complicated,” Thorin said. “But I did not come here to talk of Dwalin.” 

“Then what?” Bilbo asked. “It is your choice, in the end.”

“It is,” Thorin said. “But Gandalf thinks it should be yours.”

“Mine?” Bilbo spluttered. “I am the last person who should choose such a thing!” 

Thorin regarded him coolly, and Bilbo felt a flush rise to his cheeks, as he always did when pinned under Thorin's gaze. 

“I am sometimes foolish, Mr. Baggins,” Thorin said finally, and Bilbo bit his tongue to keep from agreeing, “but I am not blind. Do not think I did not see what you did last night.”

Bilbo gaped a little, then. “What are you saying?” he asked.

“I am saying that I would have your opinion,” Thorin said. “Yesterday evening you told me in no uncertain terms that I was a fool to think to take Kili with us. Is your mind still the same?”

Well, that was a question indeed. For Bilbo certainly had thought Thorin a fool, and since then Kili had proved to be more trouble than even Bilbo had thought. How could they take him, when he had almost killed Fili?

And then, if they left him, Fili would stay too -- there was no doubt about that in Bilbo's mind. Indeed, the choices were no more in number than they had been the previous night, when Balin had laid them out before him, but if anything, they were starker still, for it was clear that Kili needed a watchful eye not just to protect him, but to protect those around him as well. And all this over a bad dream.

In the end, Bilbo chose not with his mind, but with his heart. And it was with a full heart that he squared his shoulders and gave his answer to Thorin.

“He should come,” he said. “I think he should come.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “Then I shall ask Beorn for another pony,” he said, and turned away, leaving Bilbo gaping again.

“Just like that?” Bilbo said, but Thorin was already striding away. Bilbo blinked, and then waved a hand at his retreating back. “We should probably not give him any more knives!” he called.

Thorin raised a hand in acknowledgement, but did not look back. Bilbo stared after him, still rather astonished by the whole exchange.

“Well, Bilbo my lad,” he said to himself, “let's hope you haven't just made this mess even worse.”

And he went to see if there was any tea to be had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, they are actually going to set off for Mirkwood one of these days. Gah, I am long-winded.


	12. Chapter 12

After their broken sleep the night before, and with the prospect of beginning their journey again on the morrow, the company were only too glad to bed down immediately after dinner. Even Kili had abandoned his normal watchfulness in favour of drooping eyelids, and wrapped himself in his collection of assorted clothes and blankets without needing to be told. He made a valiant effort to stay awake, though, until Bilbo bedded down right by his feet.

“Nobody will get past me,” he assured the little dwarf, and though Kili surely didn't understand the words, his eyes closed almost immediately. Bilbo took a moment to be grateful for small favours, and let himself drift off.

The morning dawned bright and sunny once again, and if Kili had had any more nightmares, Bilbo certainly hadn't been aware of it. All was bustle and preparation, and in between snatching breakfast and dodging dwarves carrying heavy bundles, Bilbo managed to discover a new, as-yet unconsidered problem. He brought it to Fili's attention.

“Shoes,” Fili said, staring thoughtfully at Kili's bare feet. He had had no shoes when they found him, and of course there had not exactly been an opportunity to visit a cobbler. He had seemed perfectly content to wander without them up until now, but dwarves were not hobbits, after all.

Kili stared up at the two of them from where he sat on the floor. He seemed more inclined to look directly at Fili, now, and Bilbo could only hope it was a sign of easier times to come.

Finally, Fili sat down on the floor himself and began to draw off his own boots. “We used to be the same size,” he explained to Bilbo. “I hope those clodhoppers of yours have not grown even larger, brother.”

He reached out for Kili's leg, and Kili pulled it sharply back towards him. Fili sighed and put the boot down.

“Mr. Baggins?” he said. 

Bilbo pointed. “Boot,” he said. 

“Boot,” said Kili. 

Bilbo nodded and then mimed putting the boots on. In truth, he wasn't sure the mime was very accurate, for he, of course, had never worn such things. “You wear boots,” he said, and nodded. 

Kili frowned at him, but he picked up the boot and, after a bit more vigorous miming from Bilbo, put it on. Of course he put it on the wrong foot, but that was soon sorted out, though not without a rather frustrated noise from Kili. What he thought they were trying to do, Bilbo had no idea, but eventually he had a boot on each foot, and each boot was right for the foot it was on.

“Good,” said Fili.

Bilbo restrained himself from pointing out that now Fili had no boots. He was sure Fili would notice that eventually by himself. Kili, meanwhile, still sat on the floor, with his legs stretched out in front of him now, and prodded doubtfully at the boots.

“Come on then,” Fili said. “Up. Up!” 

He got to his feet, and Kili followed suit, rather clumsily. Fili pointed to the door and tugged at Kili's arm, and Kili took one step and promptly fell over.

“Oh,” Bilbo said. “Oh dear.” He crouched beside Kili where he sprawled on the floor and patted his shoulder. “Let's give that another try, shall we?”

Kili looked rather unimpressed, but he gamely struggled to his feet again. This time, he made it three rather wobbly steps before he lost his footing, and Dwalin, standing a few paces away, made a noise that sounding suspiciously like a suppressed chuckle.

“Surely it can't be that hard,” Fili said. 

Kili sat on the floor now and scowled at his feet. He looked up at Bilbo and pointed. “Why boot?”

Bilbo sat down beside him. “You're asking the wrong person, I'm afraid,” he said. Then he lowered his voice into a mock whisper. “Between you and me, dwarves are rather tender-footed creatures.”

“We are not _tender_ ,” Fili said. “Dwarves are the hardiest of all creatures on Middle Earth!”

Bilbo grinned and nudged Kili. Kili, however, was too busy glaring at the boots to notice the joke, even if he had been in a position to understand it in the first place. (It still made Bilbo chuckle, though.)

“No boot, punish?” Kili asked, turning to Bilbo with a rather speculative look on his face. 

“Don't tell him he can take them off,” Fili said. “We'll never get them back on him.”

“Would you rather I tell him we'll punish him if he takes them off?” Bilbo asked, and Fili looked suddenly pained. Bilbo patted Kili's knee. “No,” he said. “No boot, no punish.”

Kili nodded, and he was out of the boots in a moment, pushing them back across the floor to Fili.

“Fili boot,” he said firmly. 

“Well, that puts us right back where we started,” Fili groaned. Dwalin, though, was watching them thoughtfully.

“Let's have a look at those feet,” he said, and stumped over, dropping to his knees by Kili and reaching out to grab his foot. Kili scrambled back, and when Dwalin reached out again, he scuttled to the corner and tucked his feet under him.

“No punish,” he said, looking at Bilbo with something like accusation in his face.

Dwalin sat back on his heels and rubbed a huge palm over his bald head. “I can't do anything right with you, can I, laddie?” he muttered.

Fili stood by him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Bilbo sighed and slowly approached the corner on his hands and knees.

“Now, Master Kili,” he said. “No punish. We just want to look at your feet.” He pointed to his own feet. “Feet,” he said, and then pointed to his eye. “Look. No punish.”

Kili eyed him. “No punish?” 

Bilbo laid a hand on his heart, though whether the gesture would have any meaning to Kili he did not know. “No punish,” he said.

Kili unfolded himself slowly, glancing at Dwalin. Bilbo reached out with painstaking slowness and took Kili's left foot by the heel, ducking his head to peer at it. He swallowed a noise of pity when he saw the thick scars that criss-crossed the sole, and resolutely didn't think about what might have caused them. Instead, he ran his fingers lightly over the ball, then the arch, and when Kili didn't respond except to tense a little, he pressed more firmly, investigating the thickness of the callouses. Finally, he lowered Kili's foot to the ground and sat back.

“Well,” he said, “they're not as big as hobbit feet, but they do seem rather more tough than is normal for a dwarf.”

“All dwarves have tough feet,” Dwalin growled.

“Well, then,” Bilbo said, smiling at Kili, “I'm sure you wouldn't mind walking to Erebor without your boots, Mr. Dwalin.”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Dwalin drawing himself up.

“Aye, I would do that, if it was needed,” he said. 

“Well, I would very much prefer not to,” Fili put in. “But I think Mr. Baggins is saying that Kili can walk without boots, at least until we can find him a cobbler.”

Dwalin made an irritated noise and turned away. Bilbo grinned at Kili.

“Some dwarves are very sensitive, you know,” he said.

“I heard that,” said Dwalin.

\----

The tunic that Kili had worn since the day Thorin had thrown his old clothes in the fire fit him a little better, now, for both Fili and Bilbo had been at it with needle and thread, and pinned and tucked here and there so that it was not in danger of swallowing him entirely. He had a length of rope for a belt, and Bilbo had modified some of the clothes the other dwarves had given him, so that he would not go cold on the journey. Looking at him now, barefoot, with the hem of Bombur's enormous undershirt trailing from under his tunic and Ori's ugly jumper over the top, Bilbo had to admit he looked somewhat like a rather diminutive scarecrow. But it was the best they could do, and so he led the little dwarf out to meet the others, with Fili on his other side and Dwalin behind.

Thorin was already mounted, and he looked Kili up and down and frowned.

“He has no shoes,” he said.

“His feet are very tough,” Fili volunteered. “Mr. Baggins thinks he will be able to walk barefoot almost as well as a hobbit.”

Thorin's frown grew deeper. “He is no hobbit,” he said. 

“No, he certainly is not,” Bilbo said, and had to suppress an urge to say _dwarf ears_. “But he will suffer no ill-effects, I don't think.”

“Well,” Thorin said after a moment, “I am sure you know what you're about in matters of feet, Mr. Baggins. Let us not delay any further.”

Unfortunately, further delay could not be avoided, for when they started to move towards the ponies that still stood riderless, Kili stopped dead and would not be moved an inch, staring at the beasts with wide, frightened eyes.

“Come now, Kili,” Fili said. “They are only ponies.”

“Pony,” said Bilbo, pointing, but Kili seemed in no mood to learn new words.

“Maybe if you lads mount up,” Dwalin said behind them. “Show him they're not to be feared.” 

Bilbo and Fili exchanged silent looks and went to mount their respective ponies. Bilbo waved at Kili from the saddle.

“Do you see?” he said. “It's really quite a pleasant way to travel.”

Kili just stared at him, and when he dismounted again and went to try and tug the little dwarf forward, he made no more progress than he had before. Finally, Dwalin stepped forward and picked the little dwarf up around the waist. A warning formed on Bilbo's tongue, but after a brief moment of struggling, Kili went limp, and Dwalin stumped over to the pony and deposited him on the saddle, holding him there with one hand and holding out the reins with the other.

“Now, you hold these,” he said, “and just follow where everyone else goes.”

Kili made no move to take the reins, but nor did he move to get down, and Bilbo and Fili raised their eyebrows at each other in surprise. Bilbo shrugged and went to mount his own pony, and so it was that his back was turned when Kili flung himself from the saddle as soon as Dwalin had stepped away. He heard only the thump and a quiet grunt, and then Fili's voice calling his brother's name, and he turned to see Kili struggling to his feet and backing away from the pony, and Fili dismounted and reaching towards him.

Dwalin grunted in frustration. “We could tie him to the saddle,” he suggested.

“He is not a prisoner,” Thorin said sternly. He frowned thoughtfully at Kili for moment, and then turned to Balin. “How go the days?”

“We lost a few,” Balin said, seeming to calculate something on his fingers, “but we still have many left. I think we can spare a few.”

Thorin nodded. “Then if he will not ride, he can walk,” he said. 

Fili turned to him, then, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “I will walk with him,” he said, and there was something of a challenge in his voice.

Thorin considered him for a moment, then nodded. At that, Bilbo slipped from his saddle and pattered over to the two of them. When Thorin raised an eyebrow, he shrugged.

“It's such a lovely day,” he said. “I would like to stretch my legs.”

Thorin sighed and cast a glance over the rest of the company. “Anyone else?” he said. There was no response. “Then let us make haste, for there are still many miles ahead of us.”

And so they set off, eleven dwarves and a wizard riding and two dwarves and a hobbit walking. And quite the sight they must have made indeed.

\----

The day stayed warm and sunny, and Bilbo found himself growing cheerful as they marched on their way, despite his misgivings, for hobbits are happy folk as a rule and it is hard to repress their spirits for long. He chatted to Fili and Kili, and if Kili said nothing in reply and Fili hardly more than that, well, Bilbo was quite capable of holding up both ends of a conversation and still having breath to spare for walking. But eventually it occurred to him that his voice might be put to a more productive use, and so he tugged on Kili's sleeve and, when the little dwarf turned to him, pointed at his head.

“Head,” he said.

Kili stared for a moment, then frowned. “Think?” he said.

“Ah,” Bilbo said. He made a gesture that encompassed the whole of his head. “Head,” he said. Then he cradled his chin in his hand and frowned in concentration. “Think.”

“Head,” said Kili. “Head. Think. Head.”

“Yes, well, he seems to have got that,” Bilbo said. “What do you think, Master Fili?”

Fili smiled at him. “You are the expert teacher, Mr. Baggins,” he said, and Bilbo blushed a little in pleasure.

“All right, all right,” he said, clearing his throat. He pointed to his eye. “Eye.”

“Eye,” said Kili immediately. “Head. Eye.”

“Good,” Bilbo said, and then pointed to both eyes. “Eyes.”

“Ice,” said Kili. Beyond him, Fili smirked.

“Eyes, brother,” he said. Kili glanced at him and then at Bilbo, looking a little worried.

“Eyes,” said Bilbo.

“Eyes,” said Kili.

“Well, what else?” Bilbo mused. “Oh! Hair.” He put his hand to his hair and tugged it. “Hair.”

“Hair,” said Kili, though the _h_ was rather harsher and further back in his throat than Bilbo would have liked. Still, it was only to be expected, Bilbo supposed, since it sometimes seemed like half the Black Speech originated in the lungs. 

“Kili,” said Fili then, and Kili turned to look at him. Fili tugged on one of his braids. “Braid,” he said.

Kili glanced at Bilbo, then looked at the ground. A shadow of disappointment crossed Fili's face, and Bilbo was about to try and encourage Kili when the little dwarf spoke up.

“Bread,” he said softly, and then glanced up at Fili.

Fili broke into a broad grin. “Always thinking with your stomach,” he said. “Braid. _Braid_.”

Kili's lips moved silently. “Bray,” he said. “Bray-yd.”

“Yes!” Fili clapped him on the shoulder in his excitement, and Kili flinched and took a half-step towards Bilbo, but a moment later he drifted back so he was walking between them again. He had a thoughtful look on his face, and he turned to Bilbo and pointed at his brother.

“Fili is braid,” he said, “yes?”

“Fili has braids,” Bilbo corrected him. “ _Has_.”

“Has,” said Kili. “Fili has braid.” He fell silent, then, and Bilbo cast about for something else to name for him, but stopped when he saw the expression on his face, for he could practically see the little dwarf laboriously constructing a sentence in his head. A moment later, the sentence made its appearance.

“No I'm has braid,” he said, “yes?”

Fili snorted. “You haven't got braids,” he said, and Kili glanced from him to Bilbo and back again.

“No I'm havet braid,” he said, sounding somewhere between confused and annoyed. “No I'm havet. Havet got?”

Bilbo stifled a chuckle, and Fili caught his eye and made a rueful face.

“It seems this is not as easy as you make it look, master hobbit,” he said. 

\----

Fili's method of teaching seemed to involve concentrating on a particular flaw until it was set right. Unfortunately, given the level of language that Kili had at his disposal, the flaws Fili chose to concentrate on that day were rather abstract ones. First he tried to teach Kili the difference between _no_ and _not_ , only for it to become rapidly clear that he did not fully understand it himself, though of course he could use them perfectly well. Then he decided to focus on word order, which if anything was even more of a disaster. Finally, abandoning that tack, he took on what he declared to Bilbo would at least be an easier task: Kili's persistent overuse of _I'm_.

“It's _I_ and _am_ together, you see?” he said, for what must have been the fifth time. “ _I am_. _I'm_.”

Bilbo smiled a little to himself. He was rather enjoying meandering along in the grass, listening to the two dwarves talk. It was true that not much progress seemed to being made on the linguistic front, but he was sure it was more than made up for by the simple personal contact between them.

“I'm,” Kili repeated dutifully. “I'm is dwarf.”

“No,” Fili said. “ _Am_ is the same as _is_. You don't need to say them both. _Am_ is _is_.”

“Am is is,” said Kili, sounding as though he doubted that Fili was telling him the truth. “I'm -- I'm am is?”

Fili made a noise of frustration, and Kili hunched his shoulders.

“I'm am is,” he said quickly, and the note of worry in his voice had Bilbo frowning at him. “Am is, I'm am is... braid?”

“I swear, you were better at this the first time you learnt it!” Fili cried. Kili bowed his head, staring at the ground, and Bilbo put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It's all right,” he said. 

Kili's eyes flicked to him, though his head remained bowed. “No punish?” he whispered, as though hoping Fili wouldn't hear.

Fili's face grew pale, then, and he tugged urgently on his brother's sleeve. “Kili,” he said, “oh, Kili, no punish. I am sorry.”

“Fili is just sad because he wants to be able to talk to you,” Bilbo said. Kili gave him an uncomprehending look, and Bilbo tried again. “Fili is sad,” he said, and pretended to cry, rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Sad.”

“Sad,” Kili muttered, and then frowned, chancing a glance at Fili. Fili certainly looked sad at that moment, but Kili seemed unconvinced.

“No is sad,” he said. “No I'm -- not I'm think Fili sad.” He turned to Fili. “You're am is sad?”

This time, Fili did not try to correct his brother's grammar. “I am sad,” he said. “Yes.”

Kili's face settled into a deep frown at that, and he did not speak again for a while. Fili, too, seemed rather shaken by the incident, and did not volunteer to teach Kili anything else, and the silence that had previously been quite companionable began to become rather stifling. So it was with some relief that Bilbo looked up to see that Bofur had slipped from his pony and now tramped towards them, a cheerful smile affixed as ever to his face.

“Morning, lads,” he said when he reached them, walking backwards to keep pace. “You know, I was thinking about it, and you're right, Bilbo, it is a lovely day for a walk.”

Bilbo felt his spirits lifting immediately. “Would you care to join us?” he said.

“I would at that,” Bofur said, and fell in beside Bilbo. He leaned around him, though, and offered a sunny smile to Kili.

“We haven't been properly introduced,” he said. “I'm Bofur.”

Kili did not look up from his feet, and Bilbo nudged him a little, but Bofur just shrugged.

“Not the first time he's done that to me,” he said. “I remember when he was just a mite -- must have been three or four -- and he refused to even say hello, no matter how much his lady mother told him.” He grinned. “Remember that, Fili? Shyest little thing, he was.”

“Not really,” Fili said. “I don't remember him being very shy.”

“Aye, well,” Bofur said, “it was only till I gave him that little wooden horse. After that you couldn't stop him talking for all the gold in Erebor.”

Fili smiled. “I remember the horse,” he said. “He still had that when he was--” he stopped suddenly, and then cleared his throat. “It was a good horse,” he said.

“I don't suppose the same trick would work now,” Bofur said. “Little fella doesn't seem too fond of horses any more. Ah, well.” He leaned forward again. “You can talk to me or not talk to me as you like, Kili my lad. I'll not take offence.”

Kili still kept his eyes trained on the ground, and Bofur shrugged, and after a minute or two of silence which was a great deal less awkward than it had been, Bofur struck up a song. It was a marching song that all the dwarves seemed to know, and they joined in, the rich sound swelling around the party and they trudged on. Kili raised his head, eyes enormously wide, and stared around at them all, and Bilbo smiled at him.

“They do sound rather nice, when they put their minds to it,” he said.

Song followed song as morning passed into afternoon, and Bilbo was just thinking that it might be nice to stop for lunch when Bofur drew his flute from his pocket and began to play. The sound was thin, but high and pure, and the air he played was a jaunty one. Bilbo was turning to smile at him when he felt Kili stumble beside him, and caught him more by instinct than any thought. He righted the little dwarf and would have asked him if he was all right, but Kili did not even look at him, for he had his eyes fixed on Bofur's flute, and did not even look where he was going so that in a moment he stumbled again. 

“Oh dear,” Bilbo said. “I think maybe you should stop playing. Though it is lovely,” he hastened to add.

Bofur drew the flute from his mouth with a grin. “If only it had that effect on the ladies,” he said, and then held it out towards Kili. “Would you like to see?”

Kili half-raised his hand, and then brought it back to his side and dropped his eyes to the ground again. Bofur shrugged.

“Ah, well,” he said. “Another time.” And he began to whistle a cheery tune.

\----

They passed away the day remarkably pleasantly, considering the circumstances. After a little while, Bofur declared that walking was all very well for hobbits and dwarves with hobbit feet (and this earned him a scowl from Thorin), but for old miners like himself a pony was useful now and again; but they had not walked long without him before Ori appeared and walked beside Fili. Where Bofur had whistled and sung, Ori talked, holding a one-sided conversation with Kili with a truly impressive persistence. He rambled on, telling Kili of all the things that had happened in the Blue Mountains while he had been gone, with Fili putting in the occasional comment or correction, and Bilbo at first listened with some interest to the strange names of people and places and felt a pang of homesickness at all the little problems and domestic squabbles that Ori considered worthy of mention. But after a while his attention drifted away -- for although the minor tribulations of home and hearth are of great interest to those most involved in them, they are generally dull for strangers -- and noticed that Ori had gone to ride his pony again only by the cessation of the background noise he had come to take for granted. 

The other dwarves, too, took their turns, with the exceptions of Oin and Bombur (“too old” and “too fat” being their respective excuses) and Thorin himself, who stayed ever at the head of the procession with Gandalf. Some walked in companionable silence, some chatted with Bilbo and Fili, a few addressed some words to Kili himself, though of course he never answered nor even looked at them for the most part. As each visitor arrived, he grew tense and downcast, but by the time the sun began to brush against the tops of the distant mountains and Bofur arrived again by their side, he seemed, if not relaxed, then at least not actively frightened.

At other times, the three of them walked alone, and Bilbo passed the time teaching words to Kili. After a while Fili began to join in, though he was more hesitant and certainly more patient than he had been in the morning. Some words, Kili learned easily -- _hurt_ and _knife_ , _blood_ and _angry_ \-- and others he seemed not to be able to learn at all. Bilbo gave up on _funny_ fairly quickly, but he thought that _happy_ might be more straightforward, since Kili already knew _sad_. And indeed, Kili seemed perfectly content with the word, and it wasn't until an hour or so later when he pointed at Dwalin, who rode behind them wearing a permanent-seeming frown, and said _Dwarf big is happy_ that Bilbo realised he had not understood it at all. But he persisted, with Fili's help, and determined that he would not teach Kili only words for evil things, even if it was easier to do so. And in that, he and Fili were completely agreed.

They made camp not far from a babbling brook, and Thorin sent Fili to search for firewood. Bilbo found Kili a rock that he could put his back against, and sank down beside him, grateful for the rest, for though he enjoyed walking a great deal, a full day of it is enough to tire anyone, let alone a little hobbit with short legs. A full day gone, and no major disasters so far! It was enough to make him think that maybe his misgivings had all been unnecessary.

“Hobbit,” said Kili, and Bilbo turned to him. He did not seem to quite have grasped the difference between Bilbo's name and his race, perhaps because there was only one of him, and perhaps also because the company referred to him as _master hobbit_ more often than they used his given name. At any rate, one day Bilbo would explain it to him properly, but for now he was too tired.

“Yes?” he said.

Kili ducked his head and spoke in a low voice. “Fili is sad, why not kill?”

Bilbo tried to disentangle the meaning, but there seemed to him no relationship between the first and second halves of the sentence. “Fili will not kill you,” he said, falling back on what seemed most obvious.

Kili shook his head. “Not,” he said, and Bilbo decided he would not let Fili try to teach his brother grammar again. “Fili is sad, why--” he paused, as if trying to think of the best way to make himself understood. “Why not dwarfs kill Fili?” he said finally.

Bilbo shook his head. “What?” he said. “I don't understand.” 

“Why not,” Kili said, and then gestured to the company, “dwarfs kill Fili?”

Well, there really was little in the way of ambiguity for Bilbo to latch onto, but he felt sure that he had misunderstood. “Why would the dwarves kill Fili?” he asked.

Kili stared at him. “Fili sad -- is sad,” he said. “Fili is sad.”

Bilbo was starting to feel entirely adrift in this conversation, but thankfully Gandalf happened to be passing at that moment, and he called to him and asked him to help. Gandalf came willingly enough, although Bilbo knew that he did not care to speak the Black Speech. He settled before Kili and gave Bilbo an expectant look.

“Kili, ask Gandalf what you asked me,” Bilbo said. 

Kili looked worried, but Gandalf said something to him and he took a deep breath. “ _Fili dobat_ ,” he said. “ _Amat nar khozd vrasut Fili?_ ”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows in surprise. “He asks why the dwarves do not kill Fili,” he said. “He says Fili is weak.”

“I am weak?” Fili said, stepping from behind the rock with a pile of firewood. “What's this?”

Kili's look of worry now turned into outright fear, and he dropped his head in an instant. Fili frowned at him and then at Bilbo. “Why does he think me weak?” 

“He said you were sad,” Bilbo said. “He kept saying you were sad and asking -- well.” He wasn't sure if Fili had heard the first half of Gandalf's translation, and there was no need to burden him with it if he hadn't. He turned instead to Gandalf. “What word did he use?” he asked. “Might it have meant _sad_ rather than _weak_?”

Gandalf shook his head. “There is no confusion,” he said. “Their word for _sad_ is -- rather unpleasant, and thus quite memorable.” He turned to Kili. “ _Nar Fili dobat, kraibag. Fili kraibag._ ”

Kili raised his head again and looked from Gandalf to Bilbo in some confusion. “Sad,” he said, and mimed crying. “ _Dobat_.”

“Because of the crying,” Bilbo said slowly, remembering what Kili had said when Fili had wept openly before him at Beorn's. “Because he thinks crying is a sign of weakness.”

Fili put his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Can you explain it to him, Gandalf?” he asked. 

“ _Kraibag_ sad, _dobat_ weak,” said Gandalf. “ _Nar khozd usut blord dobat_.”

“ _Nar blord dobat?_ ” Kili said, sounding like he didn't really believe Gandalf. 

Gandalf shook his head, then, and launched into a series of phrases. By the end of them he seemed to have sunk a little, as though the weight of the ugly words fell physically upon him. He looked at Fili and Bilbo.

“I have told him that strong dwarves do not kill their weaker kin, but help them,” he said. “I have tried to explain what it is to protect somebody, although the words for it are not quite the same.”

Kili looked most unhappy, and Fili put a hand on his arm. “Ask him why he frowns so,” he said to Gandalf.

Gandalf asked, and Kili answered, short and clipped, glancing at Fili with trouble in his face.

“He says it is nothing,” Gandalf said. 

Fili shook his head. “I know you, brother,” he said. “It is not nothing.”

Gandalf translated this, and then asked the question he had asked before. Kili drew into himself a little and spoke.

“He says you will not want to hear it,” Gandalf said.

“Tell him we won't punish him,” Bilbo said, and then realised he could tell him himself. “Kili,” he said, “not punish.”

Kili cast him a worried glance, and he smiled and nodded encouragingly. Kili's mouth twisted, but he launched then into a long speech that had even Gandalf looking rather battered at the end of it. When he was done, he nodded, and Gandalf sighed.

“He says that if the dwarves do not kill their weak, then more weak will be born, ever more every day,” he said. “He says that the blood of the dwarves will run thin in their veins and there will come a day when their enemies will pick their teeth with the bones of the last dwarves to live on this earth.” He gave a great sigh. “And he asks that you not punish him, for he wants only to help you.”

Silence fell, a hush broken only by the call of a night bird and the sound of the rest of the company making merry by the brook. Kili kept his eyes trained on the floor. “Not punish,” he said in a small voice.

“Tell him our blood runs thicker than he knows,” came a new voice, and Bilbo turned in surprise to see that Thorin had been sitting not far away, barely distinguishable from a rock or a shrub in the fading light. He rose now to his feet, his face stern and sombre. “And tell him he shall not be punished,” he said.

\----

The second day of walking was somewhat less pleasant than the first, for a light rain began to fall in the mid-morning and by afternoon it had become rather heavier. Bilbo, Fili and Kili walked as before, and sometimes they were alone, but at others one or other of the dwarves would walk with them. Even Gandalf walked beside them for a while, and that was a great help, for he was able to translate many words that Bilbo had been unable to explain, not so much because they were too cheerful but because they were too abstract. And spirits dampened by the rain were raised again soon, because in the afternoon Kili began occasionally to look at the other dwarves, and by evening he had spoken some words to both Bofur and Ori, which led to an uproarious song from one and a smile that threatened to crack his face in half from the other.

They did not speak to Kili or to each other about what the little dwarf had said the night before. It would have to be enough, for now, to teach him what words they could, and to hope that the meanings behind them would become more clear as the days passed. 

On the second evening, Bifur came to sit by them. He had walked with them once that day, and twice the day before, and Kili, beyond glancing wide-eyed at the axe in his head, had said not a word to him. But now he sat and smiled, and Bilbo nudged Kili and pointed at him.

“Bifur,” he said.

Kili did not respond, but Bifur held something out to him. It was a honey biscuit, Bilbo saw, taken from Beorn's. Bifur held it, and Bilbo nudged Kili again.

“Take it,” he said. “It's for you.”

Kili glanced at the biscuit, then quickly up at Bifur and back down. He reached out and took it, then sat with it in his hand. Bifur thrust his own hands into the path of Kili's gaze and made a gesture. Kili blinked and looked up at him, then down at his hands. Bifur made the gesture again, and then mimed eating. He made the gesture a third time, and Kili frowned, then shoved the biscuit in his mouth, and made the gesture back. 

“Eat,” he said round a mouthful of biscuit.

Bifur broke into a rather terrifying smile and nodded vigorously. He made another gesture, and Kili copied it and then turned to Bilbo.

“What mean?” he said. “I not understand.”

“I'm afraid I don't, either,” said Bilbo. 

“It's _good_ ,” Fili said, leaning over and grabbing his pipe from the pack that sat by Bilbo's feet. “Good,” he said to Kili, and made the gesture too.

“Good,” Kili said, and made the gesture again, and Bilbo thought Bifur's head would fall off with how much he was nodding. Fili grinned at Bilbo.

“His pronunciation's better in _iglishmêk_ than in Common,” he said.

Bilbo laughed a little, but he felt rather put out. Surely it did not make sense to start teaching Kili a whole new language when he could not yet speak the one he was learning? 

“Hobbit,” said Kili, and Bilbo turned to him. “Not understand?” Kili asked, and made the sign again, though now Bilbo couldn't remember if it was the one for _eat_ or the one for _good_.

“No,” he said. “I don't speak _iglishmêk_.”

Fili blew a smoke ring. “We'd teach you if we could,” he said. “You're practically a dwarf now anyway.”

Kili frowned. “Hobbit ears,” he said, pointing. 

“Yes, my brother,” said Fili. “Hobbit ears indeed.”

\----

On the third morning, Thorin came to them.

It was before dawn, and most of the dwarves were still asleep, but Bilbo had awoken with the first lightening of the sky, and Kili seemed rarely to sleep longer than a few hours a night, and so the two of them sat in companionable silence, watching the light spread in the east. There was barely enough light to throw a shadow, and yet Thorin cast one anyway, long and looming and enough to make Bilbo shiver when it fell across him.

“Master hobbit,” said Thorin evenly, and then, to Bilbo's surprise, he dropped down to sit cross-legged on the ground in front of Kili.

Kili sat in what Bilbo had come to think of as his Thorin posture, though in truth he still adopted it with most of the other dwarves, too. His head was bowed and his hands folded in his lap, and he fixed his eyes on the ground. Thorin watched him for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than Bilbo had ever heard it before.

“We got off to a bad start, you and I,” he said.

Kili looked up once, quickly, and then back at the ground. “Bad,” he said.

“Aye, bad.” Thorin sat for a while as if considering what he would say next. “I am your uncle,” he said finally. “Your mother's brother.”

“Not brother,” Kili said quickly. “Not I'm is brother -- I'm, I'm not is brother.” The words fell over each other, somewhat garbled.

“Your mother's brother,” Thorin said, emphasising the word _mother_. “Your mother.”

Kili seemed to grope to understand, and Bilbo wondered if they had ever even explained _mother_ to him. Had Gandalf mentioned it on the first day at Beorn's? He thought he had, but he couldn't be sure.

“Not I'm has mother,” Kili said finally, and then made a frustrated face. “I'm not has mother.”

Thorin's face grew sad, then, and he sat quietly for a while, and Bilbo even thought that maybe he would stop at that, for most of the other dwarves (with the shining exception of Ori) seemed to give up whenever they hit one of Kili's walls of blank incomprehension. But Thorin was stubborn, of course, and Bilbo should have known that he would press on. And press on he did.

“You do have a mother,” he said, “and she loves you very much.” He paused, and his eyes seemed bright in the dim light. “She misses you,” he said, “and she has thought of you every day since you were taken from her. And she is so--” he paused again. “She is so sorry for what has happened to you. She is so sorry.”

Kili stared at him, and Bilbo found himself suddenly feeling like an intruder, but he could not move now without drawing attention to the fact that he had been there in the first place, and so he stayed and thought small thoughts and swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

“You do have a mother,” Thorin said again. “And I am her brother.” He rose to his feet then. “My name is Thorin,” he said, and turned away.

Bilbo watched him go, striding across the sleeping camp as the first pink of dawn began to spill over the sky above him. 

“Thorin,” whispered Kili beside him.

\----

On the fourth day, Gandalf left them.

Bilbo had known that he would, of course, because he had told them so even before they had ever come to Beorn's. But somehow, after all that had happened, he had not truly believed the old wizard would keep his word. But keep his word he did, and around midday he told them that he would come with them no further, for time was short and he had quite run out of it.

“What about Kili?” said Bilbo.

Gandalf smiled down at him. “I believe I am leaving him in capable hands,” he said. 

“But he cannot speak well yet,” Bilbo said. “What if I need you to translate something?”

“My dear hobbit,” Gandalf said, “there are many things in this world that require my attention, and I cannot do all of them at once. You will just have to struggle on without me for a while.”

After he rode away, Bilbo felt quite dispirited, and it seemed that he was not the only one, for neither Kili nor Fili had much to say for themselves that afternoon, and Kili kept glancing backwards, as if he thought to see Gandalf coming back any minute.

They made camp only a few miles from the edge of Mirkwood itself, the first trees a dark shadow ahead of them that seemed to gnaw on the edge of the sky. When the fire was lit and food was in their bellies, though, all seemed more hopeful.

“Mirkwood tomorrow,” Bilbo said to Kili. “I wonder what we shall see there?”

“Nothing good, I shouldn't think,” Fili said from Kili's other side. 

“Where go--” Kili suddenly started, and then seemed to grope for a word. “Where go not-dwarf?” he finished finally, for he still had problems remembering the word _wizard_.

“He has other things to do,” Bilbo said. 

“Go again?” Kili asked. “Not-dwarf go again?”

Bilbo looked at Fili and Fili shrugged. “I don't understand,” said Bilbo.

“Go again,” said Kili, and mimed walking with his fingers. “Not-dwarf go,” he said, and then walked his fingers back towards himself. “Go again?”

“Come back,” said Fili, and Bilbo nodded.

“Not for a while,” he said. “I think not for quite a long while.”

Kili frowned at that. “Not-dwarf speak,” he said. “Speak orc-speak. Understand.”

Bilbo patted his arm. “I know,” he said. “But we will have to do our best. You are very good now.”

Kili stared at him. “Not speak orc-speak. Not-dwarf speak orc-speak. Dwarves not speak orc-speak.”

“That's starting to sound like a tongue-twister, master dwarf,” said Bilbo. “And anyway, I speak a little orc-speak. Er, speech.”

Kili gave him a look that could best be described as sceptical, then patted Bilbo's arm. “You not speak orc-speak,” he said. “Speak orc-speak like potato.”

“Like a what?” Bilbo said, astonished, but then something happened that astonished him even more. Fili, who had been sitting by Kili's side listening with an amused smile, started to shake with silent laughter. He laughed with his whole body, his face screwed up in complete abandon, and when he opened his eyes to Bilbo and Kili's twin expressions of amazement, he only laughed the harder, throwing his arm across Kili's chest now and burying his face in his shoulder. Kili tried to jerk away, but Fili held him tight and began to make a noise that could best be described as howling. The other dwarves began to turn, one by one, and they, too, looked astounded, but Fili did not stop, his shoulders shaking and his breath coming in gasps.

“Potato,” he managed finally. “Oh my brother... always such a... smooth tongue.” 

“I think I am at least at the level of a cabbage,” Bilbo retorted, and that served only to send Fili into further gales of laughter, and he pressed his face into his brother's hair and laughed until he sobbed. And if there was more laughter than the joke was worth, and if there was a hint of hysteria in it, well, Fili had been storing it up for many years, and Bilbo supposed it could be excused. 

Kili sat with his shoulders tense and a look of complete confusion on his face, but he did not try again to pull away from his brother's embrace, and Bilbo found that, quite without realising it, he had begun to smile broadly enough that his cheeks began to ache. Somewhere out there in the gloom, the dark line of Mirkwood marched across the horizon, and who knew what tomorrow would bring. But right here and right now there was warmth and fire and companionship, and Bilbo closed his eyes and listened to Fili laugh.


	13. Part Two: Defective Paradigm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a couple of warnings in the end notes, for folks who find that kind of thing handy.

The next morning dawned clear and bright, and for once all the dwarves were awake and moving about with the rising of the sun. The atmosphere was one of mixed excitement and dread, and Bilbo heard more than one dwarf muttering _we must remember not to leave the path_ , for Gandalf had told them over and over the day before, in a way that implied terrible disaster if they disobeyed. Honestly, though, Bilbo thought it should not be so hard to stay on the path, provided they could see it and there were no confusing forks. All they had to do was keep travelling east, and soon they would see the Lonely Mountain again.

Bilbo came back from washing to find that Fili was inspecting Kili's face with a look of some dismay. He gripped Kili's jaw and turned his head this way and that, lifted it up and inspected the underside of his chin, and made general noises of irritation. Kili, for his part, submitted to this manhandling with reasonably good grace, although his shoulders were tenser than Bilbo would have liked. Something seemed to have eased between the two of them since Fili's fit of laughter, though, and Bilbo was very glad to see it.

“What seems to be the problem with your brother's chin, Master Fili?” Bilbo called cheerily as he approached. 

Fili let go of Kili's face and sat back with an exasperated sigh. “His beard's too short,” he said. “It's hardly a beard at all!”

Well, that was certainly true -- Kili's beard was just a thin coating of dark hair, nothing like the luxuriant growth that characterised the chins of the other dwarves -- but that was not exactly a revelation, for it had been that way since they first found him in the wildlands.

“Yes, it is rather short,” Bilbo said. “But he is still quite young, is he not?”

“He is certainly old enough to have a proper beard,” Fili declared. “I had thought those beasts had shaved it--” he paused and looked suddenly furious, but then seemed to pull himself together “-- but it has been more than a week, and still it does not grow.”

“Don't worry your head, lad,” Dwalin put in from where he sat nearby. “It'll come when it's ready.”

“Not having a beard is no great handicap,” Bilbo added. “We hobbits manage quite well without.”

“But he's a dwarf!” Fili cried, and he seemed genuinely distressed now. “Maybe they-- Maybe they fed him something that took away his... beard magic.”

“Beard magic?” Bilbo could hardly believe his ears. He turned to look at Dwalin. “Is there really such a thing as beard magic, Mr. Dwalin?”

Dwalin shook his head, looking amused. “The lad's working himself up over nothing,” he said. “Some folk are just late starters, that's all. There's no shame in it.”

Fili was staring at Kili, shaking his head. “He looks like a hobbit,” he declared, which, despite the bare feet, was certainly not true.

Kili frowned at his brother, then. “I'm not hobbit,” he said, and tucked his hair behind his ears, pointing at them. “Dwarf ears.”

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed. “The ears don't lie.”

Whatever Fili might have said in reply to that, it was interrupted by Thorin's order for them to move off. Dwalin decided to walk with them for the first mile or so, and he and Fili got into a passionate discussion about -- something to do with axes that Bilbo didn't really understand. While they were thus distracted, Kili turned to Bilbo with a worried frown on his face.

“I'm not hobbit,” he said. “I'm dwarf.”

Bilbo smiled and patted his arm. “Yes, my lad,” he said. “You are a dwarf.”

\----

When they came to the edge of Mirkwood, they let the ponies loose, though with some reluctance and not a little grumbling. Gandalf had told them that the beasts would be perfectly all right finding their own way back to Beorn's, and that under no circumstances were they to take them into Mirkwood, and so Bilbo, Fili and Kili found themselves accompanied now by the whole company, though not with particularly good grace. Of all of them, Kili was the only one who seemed glad to see the ponies go, and he shouldered the extra burdens of pack and food and waterskin without the least complaint. When all the gear had been distributed among them, they turned and faced the wall of trees that rose up before them.

“Remember not to leave the path,” said Thorin.

And they plunged into the forest.

\----

For the first hundred yards or so, Mirkwood seemed not to be such an unpleasant place, shafts of sunlight falling on the forest floor and the leaf litter thick and soft under Bilbo's feet. There were even a few birds twittering in the trees, though not as many as Bilbo would have expected from such a large forest. But very quickly the branches became thickly entangled above them and the undergrowth around them on either side of the path, and everywhere seemed hung with cobwebs. The light grew dim as if it was dusk, though it was barely mid-morning. Bilbo caught sight of a black squirrel from the corner of his eye, and he shivered as it skittered away. This was not at all like the cheerful, green forests of the Shire, nor even the pinewoods of the wildlands. It was deep, and dark, and old, and Bilbo felt as though it was full of eyes.

The rest of the company seemed to feel it, too, for the merry talk and laughter that had hung around them all morning now began to fade, replaced with a tense kind of silence. The path was not wide enough in most places to walk three abreast, so Bilbo and Kili walked side by side with Fili ahead of them and Dwalin behind, and Bilbo saw Fili look back often at his brother, a line of worry forming between his eyebrows as the forest grew deeper and dimmer and the silence weighed heavier and heavier. But unlike the rest of the company, Kili seemed entirely unperturbed, and marched along looking largely untroubled, only glancing occasionally at Bilbo as if waiting for him to speak. 

Bilbo did not speak, and the silence grew thicker.

\----

As the day drifted towards evening, the company began to become somewhat used to the gloom beneath the trees. Speech began to flow again, though hushed and certainly not cheerful, for as Bombur pointed out, they could hardly not talk for however many days it would take them to pass through the forest, even if it did feel like they were disturbing some great, sleeping beast. In the evening, they huddled together in their camp, and Kili, who seemed to have become quite frustrated with the way everyone was mumbling and whispering, went and sat by Bifur. In the few days since Bifur had taught him his first word of _iglishmêk_ , he had learned a remarkable amount, and he seemed strangely determined to improve as fast as possible, asking Bifur for more words whenever he walked with them. Now Bilbo watched him as he signed, his face intensely focussed. At this rate, he would be able to communicate better in _iglishmêk_ than Common, Bilbo thought, with what might have been a hint of bitterness.

Fili sat by Bilbo and smiled when he saw what his brother was doing. “He always was better at _iglishmêk_ than me,” he said, sounding rather fond.

Dwalin grunted. “Likes waving his arms around,” he said. “Loudmouth in any language, that one.”

Bifur reached out and corrected Kili's hand movements, and Kili turned and signed something at Bilbo. “Yes?” he said. 

Bilbo shrugged, and Fili replied in _iglishmêk_ , raising his eyebrows and smiling at the end. Kili nodded, and Bilbo decided it was about time he went and did... something else.

\----

Bilbo was sitting on a log at the edge of the little camp feeling rather morose when Kili wandered up to him. He dropped down on the ground next to Bilbo without the least grace or dignity and inspected something in the grass at his feet. Then he turned to Bilbo with a frown.

“Hobbit,” he said. “Not speak hand-speak.”

“No,” Bilbo said. 

“Why?” said Kili. “Hand-speak good.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said, “I still don't speak it.” He was aware that he sounded a little petulant, but he felt a little petulant, too, so that was appropriate, really.

Kili knelt up and tugged Bilbo's sleeve. “Learn,” he said. “I learn, you learn. Not-speak-dwarf learn Kili, learn hobbit.”

“Bifur,” Bilbo said absently, and Kili nodded. 

“Bifur. Bifur good speak hand-speak.”

“I'm not allowed,” Bilbo said then. Kili frowned, and Bilbo tried again. “The dwarves don't want hobbits to learn hand-speak,” he said, slowly and clearly.

Kili made a face. “Why?” he said.

“It's only for dwarves,” said Bilbo. “Only dwarves speak hand-speak.”

Kili pointed at Bilbo. “No orc,” he said. “Learn orc-speak.” He pointed at himself. “No hobbit, learn hobbit-speak. Why not hobbit learn dwarf-speak?” 

“Hobbit-speak?” said Bilbo.

Kili nodded. “Hobbit-speak. Speak hobbit-speak. Hobbit learn. Learn very good, I'm speak many.”

Bilbo felt rather cheered up all of a sudden. “Yes, well, it's not _hobbit_ speak, strictly speaking,” he said. “Hobbits do speak it, of course, but--” He was interrupted, though, by Kili tugging at his sleeve again.

“Why not hobbit learn hand-speak?”

“Well, why would I want to?” Bilbo snapped, all his cheerfulness evaporating, for he felt it was quite unfair to be thus badgered about something he could not help in the slightest. “I speak Common perfectly well, and that means I can communicate with anyone with any sense about them.” He wished the words back into his mouth as soon as they had left it, but Kili just gave him a look of complete incomprehension, and Bilbo felt rather relieved, and then felt guilty about his relief, but since he was already feeling guilty about what he'd said in the first place he decided that he would just be relieved and think no more about it.

“Learn hand-speak,” Kili insisted. “Hand-speak very good. Hand-speak help.”

“How?” Bilbo asked. He was feeling tired and left out, and the forest loomed all around him and it was only their first day under the trees, with many more miles to go before they saw the sky again. “How will it help?”

Kili seemed to think hard for a moment, then shook his head. “I'm not understand _how_ ,” he said.

“No, of course you don't,” Bilbo muttered to himself, and then forced himself to count to five and tried again. “Why does hand-speak help?” he asked.

“Many why,” said Kili. He thought for a minute. “Cut _gujab_.” 

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “What is _gujab_?”

Kili stuck his tongue out and pointed to it. “ _Gujab_ ,” he said indistinctly.

“Tongue,” said Bilbo. “ _Gujab_ is tongue.” 

Kili nodded. “Tongue. Cut tongue.”

“Hm,” Bilbo said. “Why would you cut your tongue?” The only thing he could think of was sword-swallowing, and he thought it unlikely that Kili would be doing any of that in the near future.

“Orcs go again, cut tongue,” said Kili. “Orcs cut _snaga_ tongue, no speak. Speak hand-speak.”

“Are you--” Bilbo started, and then shook his head. “What?” 

Kili stuck his tongue out and mimed drawing a knife across it and pulling it out entirely. It was a remarkably gruesome mime, and Bilbo felt something sour twist in his stomach. “Orcs cut tongue,” Kili said. “Speak hand-speak.”

“Why-- Why do you think the orcs might cut out your tongue?” Bilbo asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Kili shrugged. “Cut _snaga_ tongue. Orcs like, good eat.” He paused. “Food. Good food.” He cocked his head on one side. “Good food, good eat, which?”

Bilbo felt rather faint, and if he had not been sitting down already, he might have fallen down. “What is _snaga_?” he asked, hoping against hope that it was some kind of forest beast.

Kili pointed at himself. “ _Snaga_ ,” he said. He rolled up his sleeves and showed Bilbo his manacles. “ _Snaga_.”

“Oh good gracious me,” Bilbo whispered. He had heard all about the savageries that orcs committed, of course, but that had been stories told around a campfire, and this was something else entirely. He gripped the edges of the log he was sitting on, for he was afraid he might fall off.

Kili watched him carefully. “Learn hand-speak?” he said. 

“But Kili,” Bilbo said, for a sickening thought had occurred to him, “you didn't eat the _snaga_ tongue, did you?” 

“Orcs not--” Kili started, and then stopped, frowning. “I'm not eat good food,” he said finally. “Only bad food.”

Bilbo tried very hard not to think about what _bad food_ might be among the orcs. He closed his eyes and felt his stomach rolling within him, and he thought vaguely that he should perhaps put his head between his knees. There was a tug at his sleeve, and then he felt Kili patting his arm.

“All right,” Kili said. “All right.”

Bilbo opened his eyes to see the little dwarf peering up at him worriedly. “I'm sorry,” Bilbo said. “Something just -- came over me.”

Kili nodded. “All right?” he said.

Bilbo breathed in deeply through his nose and then smiled. “Yes, I'm all right,” he said, though in truth he still felt quite queasy.

“Learn hand-speak?” Kili said, and Bilbo put his head in his hands.

“I _can't_ ,” he said. 

“Learn hand-speak,” Kili insisted. “Orcs cut _Khozd shrakhun_ tongue, I'm speak hand-speak. Hobbit not speak hand-speak, I'm no can speak hobbit.” He pointed at Bilbo and then screwed up his face with effort. “I'm... not want... not can speak... you.” He seemed to think back over what he'd said, and then nodded. “Hand-speak very good.”

“And what if the orcs cut off your hands?” Bilbo asked, and then clapped his own hand over his mouth as if that could somehow call the words back. 

Kili did not seem disturbed, though. He thought about it for a moment. “Cut hands, speak hobbit-speak,” he said. “Cut tongue, speak hand-speak. And cut hands and cut tongue...” He frowned. “Not speak,” he decided finally, and wrinkled his nose. “I not think cut hands,” he added. “Hands bad food.”

Bilbo shot to his feet. “Come with me,” he said, and grabbed Kili by the arm, dragging him through the camp until he reached the place where Fili sat talking quietly with Bofur.

“Fili,” he said, almost throwing Kili at his brother, “look after him for a little while, would you?” 

Without waiting to hear Fili's answer, he staggered to the bushes behind the camp and lost the contents of his stomach all over the ground.

\----

Bilbo did not tell Fili or the others about what Kili had told him. In truth, he did not even want to think about it. It was hard enough trudging through the forest day after day as the air grew ever more stifling and their food supplies began to dwindle, without such dark thoughts lurking constantly in his mind. Kili did not ask him again to learn _iglishmêk_ , and indeed seemed rather wary of him for all of the second day and half of the third, walking instead with Fili while Bilbo trudged behind. At night, they spoke little, and Bilbo had strange, shadowy dreams.

If Bilbo and Kili were rather distant with each other, Fili and Kili seemed the opposite. As the trees drew in around them, Fili began to walk with a hand always on Kili's elbow, or pressing against him shoulder to shoulder. Sometimes he would lay his hand on the back of Kili's neck or ruffle his hair, and Bilbo, walking behind them, watched the way Kili's shoulders tensed each time, and the way that every time it happened the tension was just a little less. They did not speak often, but Fili did not seem to need to and Kili had become rather quiet again since his conversation with Bilbo. 

The journey grew dreary indeed, and Bilbo lost count of the number of days they had been walking. He knew only that they had run out of food, and they would soon run out of water, and of all of them Kili was the only one who did not seem troubled and heartsick. He simply walked when he was asked and stopped when he was told, and to him it seemed to be no different than walking in the wildlands. The first night there was no food for dinner, there were grumbles and grimaces from all the dwarves, but Kili simply shrugged, and Bilbo began to think there were some advantages to having suffered great hardship, though surely they were few indeed compared to the disadvantages.

The day after the food ran out, though, Kili began to grow restless as they walked, glancing around at the trees from time to time. At some point during the day -- although it was hard to tell when, for they never saw the sun in this gloomy little world -- Kili tugged at Bilbo's sleeve.

“Hobbit,” he said, “trees.”

Bilbo glanced around at the trees. “Yes,” he said. “Trees. Very good.”

Kili frowned at him. “Trees look,” he said. “Kill.” 

“You want us to kill the trees?” It must have been Bilbo's imagination, but it seemed to him that a sigh of anger blew through the forest when he said that.

“No,” Kili said. “Trees look. Trees kill.”

“They can't kill us,” Bilbo said. “They're trees.”

“Trees _ishi_ ,” Kili said. “They're kill trees _ishi_.”

“What is _ishi_?” Fili asked, looking back at them.

“I haven't the faintest idea,” Bilbo said, feeling rather annoyed and wishing Gandalf was there. 

“Trees _ishi_ ,” Kili insisted. “They're look trees _ishi_.”

“What's he on about?” Bofur asked. He was walking behind them with Dwalin, and even he seemed dispirited, his moustache drooping forlornly.

“He doesn't like the trees,” said Fili.

“Aye, well,” Bofur said, “he's not the only one.” He shivered. “How long till we get out of this miserable forest?”

“Not _daggog_ ,” said Kili. “ _Amat_ not _daggog_? Trees _ishi_.”

“It's all right,” Bilbo said. “We know. Trees _ishi_. We know.”

Kili shot him a doubtful look, and Bilbo smiled reassuringly. “Trees _ishi_ ,” he said. “We know.”

And they trudged on.

\----

In the end, they decided Bilbo should climb a tree to see if he could see how far they were from the edge of the forest. Hobbits are much more suited to tree-climbing than dwarves, since they are lighter and more nimble and dwarves are not fully at home above ground at all, let alone far above the ground. Bilbo found a likely-looking tree with great spreading branches near to the ground, and set his foot on the first one, reaching to pull himself up, but found he couldn't, for Kili was hanging onto his ankle.

“Not go tree,” he said. “Hurt tree _ishi_. Kill, not go.”

Bilbo sat down on the branch and gently extracted his ankle from Kili's hand. “It's all right,” he said. “I'm quite used to climbing trees, I used to do it all the time when I was a young hobbit.”

“Not go tree,” Kili said, and Fili and Bilbo exchanged glances.

“He didn't mind trees in the wildlands,” Bilbo said. 

“These trees are different,” Fili said.

Bilbo looked up at the great, grey trunk towering above him, hung all over with cobwebs, and sighed. Yes, indeed they were.

In the end, Bilbo pacified Kili only by telling him that yes, he _knew_ hurt tree _ishi_ and he would be very careful and not take any foolish risks, and even then the little dwarf watched him with a frown as he climbed. And although Bilbo was quite used to climbing trees and this tree was one of the more easily climbed ones, with many broad branches and plenty to hold on to, and even thick ropes of cobweb that were strong enough to hold his weight if he wanted to climb them, and although Kili was unnecessarily afraid of many harmless things like ponies and baths, Bilbo found himself being exceedingly careful indeed.

When he reached the top of the tree, he stuck his head out into the open air and breathed a great lungful of it, and at once all his worries and fears seemed to fall away, along with the stifling feeling that had threatened to choke him all day. Even his stomach seemed less empty (though certainly not full), and he watched in delight as butterflies flew up from the treetops around him. Over his head, the great blue dome of the sky arched, and the sun, oh, the sun! Bilbo had almost forgotten how it felt to have the sun on his skin, and he closed his eyes and smiled.

After a moment or two, though, he remembered that he was supposed to be looking to see how far the forest went on for, and so he turned in the treetops and looked eastward. And he saw that the forest marched on, a sea of grey-green leaves, but that not a great distance away it came to a slow stop, and beyond that was a great shining lake, and beyond _that_...

“The Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo breathed. It seemed so much closer now than it had from the Carrock, and he let out a whoop that startled a great wave of butterflies from the trees around him.

“We're almost there,” he called down. “We're almost there!”

There came no answer, and Bilbo thought that he must be too high for them to hear, so he took a deep breath of clean air and ducked his head back into the canopy to tell them. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust once more to the gloom, but when they did, he could see no sign of any dwarves on the ground.

“Thorin?” he called. “Fili? Where are you?”

There was no reply, and Bilbo climbed down a few branches and squinted through the tangle of leaves and cobwebs, trying to see if they were simply hidden behind something, though it is hard indeed to hide thirteen dwarves even in a thick forest.

“Thorin?” he called again, and it seemed to him that someone answered, though it was not the dwarf whose name he'd called. The voice was thin and hissing, and Bilbo could not hear the words, but they set all his skin a-crawling.

“Who's there?” he said, turning on the branch, and then he almost fell off it, for sitting right behind him was a great spider, bigger than Bilbo himself, and it was reaching out for him with its hairy forelegs.

Bilbo let out a yelp and danced backwards along the branch, reaching for his sword and getting it stuck halfway out of its sheath. The spider darted forward, and Bilbo managed to free the sword and slashed at it, barely nicking one of its legs and overbalancing himself in the process. For a moment, he was falling through the air, and he had a vision of himself crashing to the ground far below and ending his great adventure by falling out of a tree, which was not at all the sort of thing that people write great tales about, but then he hit a branch a little further down, and he managed to cling to it and right himself, clambering to his feet. The spider leapt down upon him, and Bilbo thrust blindly upwards with his little sword and felt it hit something solid. Something wet gushed over his hand, and then he was crushed under the weight of the dying spider, until he managed to shove it off both his sword and the branch, and watched it curl up on itself as it fell to the ground below.

The trees around Bilbo seemed to rustle, then, and he started and looked around him. He could see nothing moving, but there was a strange sort of chitinous rattling sound in the air, and Bilbo suddenly saw the thick cobwebs that festooned the forest in a new light. Where there was one spider, there were surely more, and although he had killed the first one, he was under no illusions at to how great a part had been played by his own skill and how much was simply luck. Quickly, he thrust his hand in his pocket and slipped on his ring, and then, feeling a little safer, he clambered down the tree as fast as he could. 

The dwarves were nowhere to be seen when he reached the ground, but the shrivelled body of the great spider lay at the bottom of the tree, and Bilbo skirted it with a shudder and dared not call out for fear of waking it, though it was clearly dead. And it was lucky he did not, for in a moment another spider appeared, and a third, scuttling down the tree to poke at their fellow with their hairy legs.

 _Something stung her_ , said one, and Bilbo started with horror to hear them speak Common.

 _Flies can't sting_ , said the other, and both made a strange sort of slithering clatter that Bilbo thought he would hear in his dreams for weeks, if indeed he survived to dream at all.

 _This one did_ , said the first spider. _Little stinging fly._

 _No matter_ , said the second. _Plenty of juicy morsels already, no need to go after one that stings_.

And they wrapped their fellow up in sticky webbing with surprising speed and picked it up between them, scuttling back up the tree.

Bilbo took a moment to be annoyed that the spiders spoke Common better than Kili did, and then the remark about juicy morsels connected in his mind with the notable absence of the dwarves, and he had a sudden horrible thought. Without further ado, he began to follow the spiders, making as little noise as he could (which, as he was a hobbit, was less than no noise at all) as he kept up with them on the ground. They moved fast, and it was hard for Bilbo to keep sight of them as they scuttled through the trees. More than once he thought he had lost them, but finally they stopped and hung the package of white silk they carried from a low tree branch. Bilbo followed the branch along with his eyes and swallowed when he saw many more white bundles hanging there. He counted, and there were twelve, not counting the one that he knew contained the dead spider.

Twelve. Why were there only twelve?

There was no time to worry about that, though, because the spiders were arguing over which of their juicy morsels they were going to eat first, and more voices joined in, and Bilbo saw that there were far more spiders than just two. There must have been hundreds, all scurrying and swarming around in the trees, and it made him dizzy to look at them. Hundreds of spiders could very quickly eat twelve dwarves, he knew, and so he would have to think very fast and find a way to stop them.

Think fast he did, and he saw that a great many smooth, round stones lay around his feet, for he was standing in what must have once been a stream, though no water ran there now. Bilbo was perhaps not the most athletic of hobbits -- though he was certainly not the least, and he had become rather fit over the course of all his walking with the dwarves -- but he had always had a strong aim, and he picked up a stone and flung it at a spider that was just lowering itself to poke at one of the larger bundles. The stone hit the spider square in the centre of its head, and it immediately fell off its line of silk and dropped to the ground, curling up and looking quite dead. 

A slithering rattle of outrage went round the colony then, and Bilbo realised that even if he threw all the stones in the stream bed, he would have not a hope of killing all the spiders. But maybe he could draw them away, and that might give him time to come back and rescue the dwarves. So he threw another stone, and another, and made not a small amount of noise so that the spiders could hear where he was, though he was not brave (or foolish) enough to take off the ring. And when many of the spiders began to rush over towards him, he slipped away to a place a little further distant and performed the same trick again. In this way, he led the spiders a merry dance through the forest, always following the stream bed so that he would have stones to throw, and when he judged they were far enough away, he went hurrying back, hoping that the spiders would spend a while searching for him.

The colony was empty when he returned, but for a pair of old fat spiders that Bilbo quickly felled with stones. He did not wait around, but quickly scrambled up the tree and crawled out along the branch to the nearest bundle, which was one of the smallest. He pulled out his sword, and quickly cut the webbing away, finding Ori within, looking distinctly green and shaky. Ori fell from the web before Bilbo could catch him, but luckily it was not far at all to the ground, and he lay a moment blinking and then sat up and rubbed his head.

“Why, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “What am I doing here?” 

“Well, if you don't know, I certainly don't,” said Bilbo. “You appear to have been captured by spiders.”

“Spiders?” Ori said. “I don't remember any spiders.” He climbed to his feet and stood swaying and looking like he might be sick. “We saw lights,” he said dazedly, “and there was music.”

“It doesn't matter now,” Bilbo said. “Come and help me get everyone else out.” It was clear that the spiders had bitten Ori, and now the poor lad was not well at all, but Bilbo could not afford to give him time to recover. He crawled along the branch to the next bundle, and thankfully Ori seemed to understand, for after a moment of staring at him in a rather unfocussed way, he clumsily started climbing the tree and pulling out his own little knife. 

Bofur was next, then Oin, and both looked pale and miserable and Oin seemed to have forgotten that he was deaf and so couldn't understand anything that Bilbo said. The fourth bundle Bilbo cut open contained Fili, and Bilbo sighed in relief to see the young dwarf's eyes open, and then became less relieved when he fell to the ground and began to retch bile onto the forest floor.

“Oh dear,” Bilbo said, and scrambled down the tree to turn Fili's head so he would not choke. “There, my lad,” he said. “You'll be all right.”

“Mr. Baggins,” Fili said in a rather distant voice. “You decided to come with us!”

“I decided to rescue you, more like,” Bilbo said. “Come on, now, get up. We've got to help the others.”

Fili just stared at him blankly, and Bilbo sighed. “We've got to help your brother,” he said, since that of course would be the best way to push Fili into action.

“My brother's dead,” Fili mumbled, and Bilbo suddenly felt cold. There had only been twelve bundles -- only twelve.

“What?” he said. “What happened?”

Fili's eyes glazed over. “Orcs,” he said. “They took him from me. I tried to hold on to him, but I couldn't.” He closed his eyes. “I lost him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, my poor lad,” Bilbo whispered, but there was no time for any of this, so he pushed away his pity and shook Fili until his eyes opened.

“Kili is not dead,” he said firmly. “We found him, remember? He's somewhere in one of these bundles, and you have to help me get to him before the spiders come back and eat him.” 

Fili blinked up at him, and then something seemed to clear in his eyes, and he frowned. “Eat him?” he said, and then was suddenly stumbling to his feet. “Kili,” he cried, “Kili!”

“We've got him,” came Bofur's voice, and Fili staggered towards him where he crouched on the ground a few paces away. Kili lay sprawled before him, his face chalk-white and his eyes closed. Fili fell to his knees beside his brother.

“Is he breathing?” he asked. “Kili, wake up. Wake up, my brother.”

He reached to shake Kili by the shoulder, but at the first touch of his hand, Kili's eyes snapped open, black and hard, and he snarled, scrambling out from under Fili's touch. 

“Shh, it's all right,” Bilbo said. “It's all right, Master Kili, you're safe now.” Which was not entirely true, but certainly more true than it had been a few moments ago.

Kili struggled to his feet and growled at them, glancing around at all the dwarves, who mostly sat or lay on the ground in various degrees of distress. He said something sharp in Black Speech -- although all things were sharp in Black Speech, so that didn't narrow it down much -- and backed away from them towards the shadows under the trees.

“He's going to run,” Fili breathed, trying to get to his feet himself and making it only halfway.

“No, he's not,” Bilbo said firmly. “Now, then, young master dwarf,” he said, addressing himself to Kili now and stepping forward with his hand held up. “We shan't go through all this again. We are your friends.”

Kili swayed where he stood, his face still bloodless, but his eyes stayed hard and cold, and they darted rapidly from side to side. Bilbo saw the very moment when the little dwarf made the decision to run, and he knew then that he was the only one of the company who was in any state to catch him, so he flung himself forward, catching at Kili's ankle before he could escape and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Kili started fighting immediately, and Bilbo was sure it was only because the little dwarf was weak from the spider venom that he managed to avoid some quite painful injuries. There was a great deal of scratching and snapping teeth, but Bilbo quickly gained the upper hand, and he was about to start trying to talk some sense into Kili again when the little dwarf writhed violently underneath him and slipped out of his grasp, stumbling to his feet and aiming a vicious kick at the side of Bilbo's head, and Bilbo's mind went blank for a spell. 

Bilbo vaguely heard the dwarves shouting his name, but it was rather faint through the ringing in his ears. He was aware that he was lying on the ground, and he could see boots in front of him, although he didn't know whose they were. And then someone was shaking him, and he sat up and rather wished he hadn't.

“Bilbo,” Bofur said urgently. “You have to catch them.”

“Catch who?” said Bilbo.

“Fili and Kili,” Bofur said, and he pointed into the forest. “The little lad ran off and Fili went after him, and neither of them's in a good state.”

“I'm not in a good state, either,” Bilbo muttered, but he struggled to his feet, for he was starting to feel less dizzy already, and he could hardly let Fili and Kili run off alone and do themselves an injury.

“Run,” said Bofur. “We'll follow as fast as we can.”

Bilbo nodded, and took to his heels in the direction Bofur was pointing.

He could not have been unconscious for more than a few seconds, for he could hear Fili crashing through the underbrush ahead of him, calling his brother's name. Certainly they would not avoid the spiders hearing them, but there was no helping that now, and Bilbo ignored the aching in his head and put on a burst of speed, glimpsing Fili's broad back ahead of him through the trees. He was running in a stumbling sort of lope, and Bilbo realised he would have no trouble catching up to him, and went about doing just that until Fili stopped suddenly and raised his hands. Bilbo stopped too, for he heard strange voices through the trees and the last time that had happened, he had almost become a spider's dinner. He slipped on the ring, and crept forward to see what was happening.

What was happening was that Fili was surrounded by elves, and all of them pointed arrows at him. Fili had his hands raised, but his face was defiant, and only someone who knew him well -- as Bilbo had come to over the past few weeks -- would have seen the desperation that twitched at the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” said one of the elves, a she-elf with long red hair that seemed to glow in the dimness. “And what do we have here?”

From behind him, Bilbo heard the sound of more elves calling in their own language, and of dwarves growling in theirs, and he sat down suddenly on a tree stump.

They were caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for spiders and references to cannibalism (or, I don't know, eating of sapient beings?) Also for everything going completely wrong again, oh dear.


	14. Chapter 14

The sound of eleven dwarves growling and grumbling could be quite overwhelming, Bilbo discovered that day as the elves marched them through the forest. They were not like the Rivendell elves, these ones, although they were tall and slender and graceful as their cousins beyond the Misty Mountains. There was something altogether wilder about them, as they laughed at their dwarven captives and prodded them with their bows, and Bilbo, who scuttled along invisible behind the party, found himself getting rather worried. He had thought that this would all be cleared up very smartly, for elves and dwarves disliked each other, that much he could hardly have failed to notice, but he was sure they could at least be civil.

Apparently, though, they could not.

And then there was the other problem, which was the very fact that there were only eleven dwarves in the first place. Kili, of course, was missing, for it seemed that he had been far enough ahead -- or good enough at hiding -- that the elves had not seen him. But that left the dwarf who had been missing right from when Bilbo found them all trussed up in spider silk, and that dwarf, Bilbo discovered, was Thorin. This was much more of a mystery than Kili's absence, for Thorin had been with the others when Bilbo had climbed the tree, and yet some time between then and when Bilbo had cut them down, he had been separated. Had he been caught by the spiders and then dragged off somewhere else? If so, he was probably already a spider's dinner, and Bilbo felt his stomach twist itself in knots at the thought. But he could do nothing about it, for he had no idea where the dwarf king might have gone, and he could not ask the others, even invisible, for elves had sharp ears and he must not give himself away. 

The eleven that were left stumbled and muttered their way through the forest, and a sorry sight they were indeed. All of them had been bitten, it seemed, although some were worse affected than others. Dwalin seemed the least badly off, and Bombur the worst -- Bilbo thought they might have bitten him twice to compensate for his large size -- but Fili was very nearly as poorly as Bombur, and seemed barely able to keep his feet. He glanced continually around, as if he, too, was wondering about Kili and Thorin -- and no doubt, he was.

The red-headed elf who had first addressed Fili appeared to be the leader of the band, and she was rather more serious than the rest, though she smiled at some of their jokes. Occasionally she spoke sharply, when one or other elf got too enthusiastic with their poking and prodding of the dwarves, and although Bilbo could not understand anything that was said, he was grateful that there was someone to keep them in check, for the wild light in their eyes unnerved him. And when Fili fell, it was the red-headed elf who stepped lightly to him and lifted him to his feet as if he weighed no more than a child.

“You should watch where you step, master dwarf,” she said, but not unkindly.

It was almost an hour before they reached their destination, and by then the defiance of the dwarves had reached a low ebb, and all looked exhausted and sickly pale in the dimness. Bilbo could not tell which way they had travelled, whether towards the east or back into the tangled depths of the forest, but surely they were still near the edge. Not that that would help them, if they were prisoners of the elves.

And prisoners they were indeed, as soon became clear when they were ushered in through a great, solid door into what appeared to be a cave, though hung with sparkling lights and beautiful ornaments. For each dwarf was spirited away by two or three elves, and Bilbo had to make a quick decision as to who he would follow. In the end, he chose Fili, and not just because he was concerned for his health. He trailed behind the little band of elves and dwarf as they travelled through tunnels and caverns ever deeper into the earth, and he tried to keep track of where they were going, but although hobbits generally live in holes, they are not accustomed to caves, and he soon found himself turned around. Finally, the elves unlocked a door and pushed Fili through it, and they closed and locked it behind him and said something light and mocking in their own tongue as they walked away. Bilbo waited until he was sure they were out of earshot before he hurried to the door. Thankfully, it was not solid, but made of graceful white bars, and he could see Fili slumped inside, sitting on the floor and propped up against the wall. His eyes were closed, but when Bilbo slipped off the ring and whispered his name, he raised his head in an instant.

“Bilbo!” he cried, sounding rather hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you in,” Bilbo said. 

Fili frowned. “But how did you -- oh, your ring!” he said. “I had quite forgotten about it.”

If he was honest with himself, Bilbo would have preferred it if the ring had stayed forgotten, but there was no help for that now. He gripped the bars and tested them, but of course they were very solid and would not give to the strength of a troll, let alone a little hobbit.

“Are you all right?” Bilbo asked. “You look terrible.”

Fili straightened up a little. “I am none the worse for wear,” he said, which was clearly untrue. “But Bilbo, what of the others -- did you see where the elves took them?”

“I haven't looked for them yet,” Bilbo said. “I think they will all be separated.” 

Fili nodded. “And -- and my brother?” he said. “My uncle?”

“I don't think they are here,” Bilbo said. “Was Thorin with you when the spiders attacked you?”

“I don't remember any spiders,” Fili frowned. “I remember lights, somewhere among the trees, and then -- something bit me, it felt like.”

“That would have been the spiders,” Bilbo said. 

Fili seemed to digest this for a little while. “But if neither of them are caught, perhaps they are together?” he said. 

Bilbo didn't point out that they had disappeared at different times and in different places, nor that he was not entirely sure how well Kili would react to Thorin if he was still unable to remember the past few weeks, for there was hope on Fili's face and he could not bear to crush it.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, perhaps they are.”

“They must be,” Fili said, sitting back. “Thorin will know what to do, he will find a way. And I am quite sure that with you on our side and your magic ring, we will be out of here in no time!”

Bilbo felt a great deal less sure of this than Fili seemed to, but he nodded his head and agreed, and then he heard voices coming down the tunnel and he quickly slipped the ring back on.

“I will see if I can find the others,” he whispered, and Fili nodded.

“Tell them not to worry,” he murmured. “Thorin will find us soon enough.”

\----

The elven fortress was enormous, Bilbo found, all winding tunnels and echoing caverns, and one tunnel looked very much like another, so that he was lost more often than he was found. He often had to press himself against the walls to avoid elves as they passed through, and sometimes he found himself following them in the hope of learning where he was. He wished they would speak in Common, but of course they only spoke their own tongue amongst themselves, and so Bilbo learned nothing of his companions from what they said. But he learned -- quite by accident -- that the elves who carried graceful spears by their sides were those assigned to guard duties, for he followed one group of three who visited first one dwarf cell then another, bringing food and drink and mocking insults. He followed them until he had found four dwarves, and then every time he saw a spear for the rest of the day he followed its owner, and in this way he found all of the company over the long, slow day and night that followed their captivity. It took him almost the same amount of time again to memorise the paths between all the cells, and to make each dwarf aware of his presence, and then he became quite burdened with messages between brothers and cousins until he began to feel more like a postman than a burglar. Dwalin and Ori thought to send messages to Fili as well, and Bilbo was glad, for the young dwarf seemed very lonely and troubled in his cell.

Once, Bilbo caught sight of an enormously tall elf with hair as pale as buttermilk, who passed across the end of a tunnel Bilbo was creeping down. He wore a great crown of berries and leaves, and Bilbo thought that he must be the king, and hid in the shadows even though he was invisible, for there was something cold and penetrating about the elf's pale eyes. 

And ever Fili insisted that Thorin and Kili must be together, and that they would be rescued at any moment, until Bilbo began to worry that it was stopping him trying to think of a plan of his own. Maybe Thorin and Kili were together, and maybe they were not, and maybe they had both long since been eaten by spiders (although Bilbo tried very hard not to think about that possibility), but how one dwarf, be he never so determined and courageous, was supposed to storm the doors of the fortress and rescue eleven scattered dwarves with no-one but his addle-headed, untrained nephew to help him was certainly not clear to Bilbo. 

“Don't worry,” Fili said. “My uncle will think of something.”

But Bilbo did worry. Oh, how he worried, for in between stealing food from the elves and taking messages to the dwarves, there was very little else for him to do. That is, until late on the second day when he took a wrong turn and found himself deeper in the fortress than he had ever been before, and saw before him an elf carrying a spear. If he had known where he was, he probably would simply have turned around and gone back, for he knew where all the dwarves were now and he no longer followed the guards around. But he was a little lost, and he thought that the elf-guard would lead him back to one of the cells, or at least up to the higher levels.

Lead him to a cell he did indeed, but it was not one that Bilbo had visited before. It was deep under the ground, and the tunnel that led to it was dark and a little dank, and Bilbo had to wait for the elf guard to move away before he crept to the door and peered in.

When he did, he found himself both upset and oddly relieved, for none other than Thorin Oakenshield sat on the floor by the wall, deep in brooding thought.

“Thorin,” Bilbo cried, almost without meaning to, and Thorin raised his head and frowned, looking around himself in some confusion.

“Who is there?” he asked. “Show yourself!”

Then, of course, Bilbo remembered that he was still wearing the ring, and he slipped it quickly from his finger. Thorin started to see him appear suddenly outside the bars of his cell, and then he rose to his feet and quickly strode over, gripping the bars and looking Bilbo up and down.

“Master burglar,” he said, and there was a note of gladness in his voice that Bilbo didn't think he had ever heard there before. “You are a sight for sore eyes! How came you to be here? And unbound?”

“Well, as you say, I _am_ a burglar,” Bilbo said, but it was clear from the look on Thorin's face that that would not stand as an answer, and so, with some regret, Bilbo explained about the ring. He was sure that when he was done, Thorin would curse him for a fool who had no skills at burgling at all and merely hid behind magic, but if anything, Thorin seemed rather impressed. 

“A fine thing to have indeed,” he said. “I doubt not you will aid us many times before this quest is done, Mr. Baggins, you and your magic ring.”

Bilbo felt a surprised glow of pleasure at the praise, and he straightened his shoulders and stood to his full height. Thorin nodded at him, and Bilbo saw suddenly why Fili seemed always so anxious to please his uncle, and so sure that he would never fail them.

“But what of the others?” Thorin asked then. “Are they all here? Are they well?”

“As well as can be expected,” Bilbo said. “The elves don't mistreat them, though they aren't very kind either.” 

“They are elves,” Thorin growled, as if that was enough to explain any misconduct. Then he sighed. “I was not sure whether they had all been taken,” he said. “I am sorry to hear it, but I am glad not to be alone.”

Bilbo nodded, for he felt the same way finding Thorin here. Surely it would be better if he were not captive, and yet, somehow, Bilbo was greatly relieved to see him. 

“And Kili?” Thorin said. “How is he affected by all this?”

Then, of course, Bilbo remembered that they had not all been taken after all, and he realised with a sinking feeling that if Thorin was here, then Kili was out in the forest on his own, with the spiders and who knew what else.

“He is not here,” he said.

Thorin frowned at that. “Not here?” he said.

“He ran off,” Bilbo said. “After the spiders, he didn't remember who we were, and he ran away into the forest. We were all caught before we could catch him.”

Thorin looked at him with blank incomprehension, and Bilbo realised that he might not know about the spiders at all, and was about to start explaining when Thorin's fingers flexed on the bars and he spoke again.

“He is here, master hobbit.” 

“What?” Bilbo stared at Thorin in some surprise. “Have you seen him?” 

Thorin's fingers tightened on the bars, and then he suddenly let go and turned away, face full of anger. “The elf king,” he said. “He torments me almost hourly with questions. He will know who we are, what we are doing here, why we have violated the laws of his kingdom.” He paused, as if gathering himself. “Yesterday, he asked me how I dared to bring an orc-friend across his borders.”

“Orc-friend,” breathed Bilbo.

“Aye, they call him that.” Thorin's head was bowed, but the darkness of the shadows across it were nothing to the black rage in his voice. “Of all creatures on this earth, they call my nephew orc-friend.”

“But,” Bilbo said, “but have you explained?”

“I have explained until my voice was gone,” Thorin said. “They hear only the Black Speech that falls from his lips, and they refuse to believe any would have a reason to use it that is not corruption and evil. They do not trust me, and they trust me all the less because I claim him.” He slammed his hands against the bars, and Bilbo started back. 

“Maybe it would be better not to claim him,” Bilbo said, although of course it was almost certainly too late for that now. “They might trust you more, and maybe you can talk us out of this.”

Thorin laughed, then, but the sound of it was bitter and sharp. “We will not get out of this by talking, master burglar,” he said. “And if I had not claimed my nephew, he would not still draw breath.” He closed his eyes. “The elves have no love for dwarves, but orcs they kill on sight, and a dwarf who chose to side with the orcs would have a cruel fate indeed.” 

Bilbo shivered, thinking of Kili somewhere in the vast sprawl of the elven fortress, with only his uncle's word between him and death. How the elves could think that the poor little creature was a threat was a mystery to him, at least until he remembered that he had thought the same himself not so long ago. Until he remembered that Kili had not known where he was or who he was with when he had run into the forest, and most probably not when he had met the elves, and had he cursed them in Black Speech? Had he remembered any words of Common at all?

But it had been days since then, and surely the spider venom would have worn off by now. And then there were other things, too, the shackles, and, and-- 

“The words on his back!” Bilbo cried. “Did you tell them to look at them? Doesn't that show he didn't choose to be with the orcs?”

Thorin leaned his forehead against the bars, then, and he looked suddenly immensely tired. “They would not have carved those words themselves,” he said, “but I think they do not disagree with them.”

Bilbo sat down on the floor, then, for their imprisonment had seemed unpleasant and inconvenient before, but now it seemed grim and desperate. These elves, with the wild light in their eyes, who had seen Kili's back -- and he dared not even imagine how Kili had reacted to them taking his clothes from him -- and who still hardened their hearts against him because of the tongue he spoke, these elves were not gentle foes, nor, he saw now, would they be easily reasoned with. They lived in the heart of a twisted forest that filled Bilbo with dread, and their light was as frightening as the gloom under the trees. 

“What can I do?” he asked.

“You must find him,” Thorin said. “Find my nephew, Mr. Baggins.”

And Bilbo nodded. “I will,” he said. “I will.”

\----

It was all very well to promise to find one little dwarf in a maze of passageways and rooms, but it was quite another to actually do it, and Bilbo had not the first idea where to begin. He wandered for hours, deeper and deeper into the caves until he began to fear he would never find his way out. He peeped into rooms when doors were open, but feared to open those that were shut, in case someone should be inside and he gave himself away. He found wine cellars and storerooms, and some rooms that seemed to have been empty for longer than Bilbo had been alive, great carpets of dust thick on the floor. And he began to fear that Kili might be kept behind a door with no window in it, and that he would never find him.

But then, just as he was beginning to despair, he heard the sound of voices from deeper still within the maze, and he went towards them partly because he had been so long wandering alone now that he thought even elvish guards who were oblivious to his presence would make a nice change. But as he rounded the corner, he saw that the two elves whose voices he had heard were closing and locking a door, and that the door had a window in it that was set with bars, and he felt a sudden bloom of hope in his chest. He forced himself to stand against the wall until the elves were gone, but as soon as the echoes of their footsteps had faded away, he hurried over to the door. 

It was not like the doors on the cells of the other dwarves. They were almost entirely bars, slender and some even decoratively carved, though still strong and still a cage. This door was thick, dark wood, studded with nails, and the grating was just a small window, high enough that Bilbo had to stand on tip-toes to look through, the bars stout grey iron and unadorned. The only light that entered the cell fell through the window itself, and Bilbo had to stare for a little while to make sense of the strange muddle of light and shadows within the room.

When his eyes finally managed to untangle it all, he saw that a hunched little figure sat half-illuminated by the light from the door. The figure's arms were tied above its head, thick rope looped through manacles on its wrists, and its head was bowed, dark hair falling tangled over its face.

Kili.

Bilbo hesitated. The last time he had seen Kili, the little dwarf had been spitting Black Speech and snarling at all and sundry. Now he sat silent, head hanging, but if Bilbo called to him and he still didn't remember, would he start shouting again? If he did, would the guards hear and come running?

But the spider venom had worn off the other dwarves, although they were still far from hale and hearty, and Bilbo could not leave without speaking to Kili, certainly could not go back to his uncle without knowing whether or not Kili even remembered that he had been rescued from the orcs. And it was not just for Thorin's sake, either, for Bilbo felt the gnawing worry that had accompanied him since the elves first caught them intensify the longer he stared through the window at the still, silent figure. And so, he slipped off the ring and whispered softly through the grating.

“Kili.”

Kili's head remained bowed, and he gave no sign that he had heard. Perhaps he was asleep, Bilbo thought. It did not look like a very comfortable position to sleep in, but Bilbo doubted that the elves came down to loose him from his shackles every night. “Kili,” he said again, a little louder this time. “Kili, it's me. It's Bilbo.”

Kili twitched, then, and Bilbo nodded vigorously, though of course Kili couldn't see him. “That's right,” he said. “Lift your head up, let me see you.”

But when Kili did lift his head, Bilbo almost wished he hadn't. At first he thought that there was an odd sort of bruise that striped across his face from ear to ear, and then he thought maybe it was a lock of hair that had somehow become caught in Kili's mouth, but finally, as the light and shadow shifted across Kili's face, he saw that the little dwarf had been gagged. The shock of it had Bilbo dropping from his tiptoes, his view of Kili abruptly hidden by the wood of the door, and he leaned his forehead against it a moment and took a breath.

“Oh, my lad,” he muttered. “Oh, my poor dear lad.”

Then he pulled himself together and raised himself on his toes again, and this time he was able to look at something other than the gag, able to see that Kili's skin was pale but not bruised, and that his eyes were dark but seemed clear. 

“Are you all right?” Bilbo asked, and Kili blinked a moment, then nodded, slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure of the answer. Something twitched in the darkness, and Bilbo found his eyes drawn up to Kili's bound hands. The fingers shifted, forming shapes, and Bilbo felt cold and then hot and then extremely angry, although with whom he could not quite say.

“I don't understand,” he said, trying to sound less furious than he felt. “I don't speak _iglishmêk_.” Stupid dwarves and their stupid, ridiculous rules and stupid, stupid Bilbo for not just ignoring them and doing as Kili asked. The orcs had not cut out Kili's tongue, but the elves had tied it, and now there was nothing Bilbo could do. 

Kili's fingers twitched and shaped, as if he didn't understand what Bilbo had said, and Bilbo found himself on the verge of tears. “I don't understand,” he said again. “Kili, I don't understand. _Nar -- nar shrink, nar shrink_.” He cursed himself yet more for not being able to remember the right word in Black Speech, but Kili seemed to have finally grasped what he was saying, and his fingers fell still. Bilbo stood, staring helplessly in at him, and Kili stared back and was silent.

“It will be all right,” Bilbo said. “Your uncle told me to tell you to -- to be of good cheer.” It seemed a rather pathetic message to bring, especially as Bilbo did not know if Kili remembered who his uncle was or even what _uncle_ meant, and Kili did not react to it in the slightest, only continuing to stare at Bilbo, fixing him with those dark eyes just as he had so many nights ago in the wildlands. Then it had stirred unease in Bilbo, and now it did, too, but for different reasons.

“Fili is all right,” he said, trying to think of things that Kili might understand, that might help him. “And the others. And -- and we will find a way out. We will get out.” He didn't know if Kili had understood, and Kili made no sign, but only stared. Bilbo, his feet starting to ache from standing so long on his toes, gripped the bars and pressed his face against them.

“I will help you,” he said. “I promise, I will help you.”

But Kili made no reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Oh very dear.


	15. Chapter 15

It took Bilbo much longer than he would have liked to return to Thorin's cell, for he had wandered far and deep and he certainly did not take the simplest route back. And that was not all, for he had to stop at every turning and every fork to memorise it, for the idea of losing the way, of knowing that Kili sat, bound and gagged and alone, somewhere in the great fortress, but of not knowing _where_ , made him feel like he had swallowed a stone.

When he finally reached Thorin's cell, the dwarf king was pacing in tight, angry circles, hands clenched around each other behind his back. The moment Bilbo drew off the ring he was at the bars, fingers twitching and flexing around them.

“Did you find him?” he said.

Bilbo opened his mouth, but the look on Thorin's face stunned him into silence. For he had travelled now long months with the company, and the dwarf king had often seemed to him to have but few expressions, of which most included some form of anger or irritation (usually with Bilbo). But now, Thorin's face was alive with trouble and what seemed to be fear, and Bilbo could not recall ever having seen such a thing there before.

“Master hobbit!” Thorin insisted, and Bilbo started and squeaked.

“Yes!” he said. “Yes, yes, I did!”

Thorin's eyes seemed to bore a path straight into Bilbo's little hobbit brain. “And is he unharmed?”

“Yes, unharmed,” Bilbo gabbled. “He is well.” 

Thorin's hands relaxed around the bars, then, and the fear was gone from his face as though it had never been there. “I had thought...” he said. “Something the elf king said today made me think that he might already have passed his sentence.”

Bilbo felt rather cold at that. “Is that--” he said, “--is that something he will do soon, do you think? Pass his sentence?” 

“I do not know.” Thorin sighed. “Elves are slow to action, for they have more time than dwarves or men. I hope it will take him many moons.”

Many moons -- surely Bilbo could find them a way out of here in that time? But even as he tried to convince himself, he remembered the great doors of the fortress that were always guarded, and the locked doors of the cells, and the distance between them, and the fact that he only had one ring, and he felt trouble well in his stomach like bad water.

“But Kili is well?” Thorin said, and Bilbo opened and closed his mouth and then nodded.

“As well as can be expected,” he said, which might be a lie, but since Bilbo had no idea what to expect from this situation, he could hardly know. He was engaged in a furious debate with himself over how much to tell Thorin -- for he knew that if he told all, the results might be unpredictable and dangerous. Fili was a safer confidant, he thought.

“Good,” said Thorin. “That is good.” He looked Bilbo up and down, and then raised an expectant eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well what?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin was silent a moment, then his brows drew down. “Would you be so cruel as to have me imagine what it is you are not telling me, master hobbit?” he said.

Bilbo closed his eyes a moment. He had never been a particularly good liar -- had never needed to be before these blasted dwarves had shown up on his doorstep. “He is--” he said, and then tried to think of the least ugly word that would still convey his meaning, “--restrained.”

“Bound?” Thorin said, his frown deepening. “I had feared as much.”

“And,” Bilbo said, screwing up his courage, “he is gagged.”

Thorin stood still and silent for a moment then, and only his eyes still seemed alive, fixed on Bilbo as if somehow he was the key to all of this. “Gagged,” he said finally, his voice flat and even. 

Bilbo nodded miserably. “I couldn't talk to him,” he said, “but I think he remembered who I was. And the _iglishmêk_ , he remembered that, too! He was trying to tell me something, but I--” He paused as the feeling of frustration overwhelmed him again. “I couldn't understand him,” he finished, feeling obscurely like he had failed.

Thorin barely seemed to be listening, though. He stood in brooding thought, still staring at Bilbo, though he did not seem to see him. Bilbo could see muscles jumping in his jaw, and he swallowed at what fury might be boiling beneath that calm exterior, so that when Thorin finally spoke, he started with fear, even though the dwarf king's voice was no louder than before.

“But they must enter his cell at times,” he said. “They feed him, do they not?”

“I--” Bilbo honestly had no idea, but he couldn't imagine the elves would let their prisoner starve to death, orc-friend or no, and he had seen the two elves leaving Kili's cell, after all. “Yes, I suppose they must.”

“And this -- gag,” Thorin said, his voice deepening a little on the last word. “It is a cloth, or leather? Not something that locks?”

Bilbo shook his head in some bewilderment. All he remembered was an impression of darkness running across Kili's face from ear to ear. Something that locked? What was he--

Oh. 

“You want me to go into his cell,” he said, his stomach sinking. 

Thorin knelt, then, so he was more of a height with Bilbo. “I ask much of you, I know it,” he said. 

But now that Bilbo thought of it, it made perfect sense. Of course he could slip into Kili's cell with the elves, and then stay when they were gone and loose his gag. That would solve the _iglishmêk_ problem and give Kili someone to talk to so he didn't lose all his Common words. And Bilbo -- Bilbo could find out if he really remembered him. If he hadn't been forgotten.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course, of course.”

“You will do this?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo nodded.

“Gladly,” he said, and then squeaked a little again as Thorin thrust an arm through the bars and clasped Bilbo by the shoulder. 

“Mister Baggins,” he said. “I find myself in your debt once more.”

“Well, er,” Bilbo said, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks, but he could not suppress a pleased little smile. “Think nothing of it.”

Thorin gave no answering smile. “I think everything of it,” he said.

\----

The way from Thorin's cell to Kili's was long and winding, and Bilbo had no idea how long he would be down there, and so before he set off he made a different journey, for there was another dwarf for whom he had much news.

Fili was sleeping, sprawled across the narrow bed the elves had supplied for him. He frowned in his sleep, and muttered, and Bilbo had just decided to leave him alone for now and let him rest as much as he could, when his eyes cracked open and he rolled into a sitting position, frowning.

“Is someone there?” he said, and then, in a low voice, “Bilbo?”

Bilbo felt rather put out that Fili had been able to tell he was there even thought he was wearing his ring, but he drew it off his finger anyway, and smiled and waved a little.

“Good morning, master dwarf.”

In truth, Bilbo had no idea if it was morning or afternoon, and in fact he rather suspected it was night-time, but _good morning_ was what you said when people had just woken up, so _good morning_ it would be, whether or not it was morning, and whether or not there was anything good about it.

Fili smiled and came over to the bars, crouching down beside Bilbo. “I had begun to think you'd decided to go and try your luck with another band of disreputable dwarves,” he said. 

Bilbo felt rather guilty, for he had not visited Fili for many hours. He had meant to come back sooner, but then he had found Thorin, and then -- well.

“Fili,” he said, for there was no sense delaying the bad news any further. “Your uncle is here.”

Fili's smile widened, then, and a light appeared in his eyes. “He is here?” he said. “Then when are we leaving?”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, “oh no, you mistook me. I mean he is a prisoner.”

At that, Fili's smile faded, and he sat on the ground, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Prisoner?” he said. “You have seen him?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “He's in quite another part of the fortress, or I would have found him earlier.” 

Fili stared down at his hands a moment. “And he is -- unharmed? How does he seem?”

Bilbo thought of Thorin's glower, his fury, his sombre pronouncements. “Very much like Thorin,” he said. “He says the elf king keeps asking him questions, and he says you should all be of good cheer and not tell him anything.”

Fili nodded. The light had entirely gone from his eyes, now, and he looked tired and small. “Tell him I will do as he says,” he said, and then a frown came over his face. “But then -- if Thorin is caught, then Kili is all alone!”

Bilbo thought of Kili, bound and gagged amidst a honeycomb of empty rooms, and he thought that he could not deny the truth of Fili's words. But he slipped his hand through the bars and laid it on Fili's arm. 

“Kili is caught, too,” he said.

Fili's eyes widened at that. “Kili, too?”

Bilbo nodded. “I think he had been here for a little while, but I only found him an hour or two ago.”

“And is he-- Is he--?” Fili started, with sudden fear on his face, and Bilbo knew, then, he knew he could not tell Fili everything, for he saw now that all the bravado and certainty of the last few days had just been a way of taping together his fraying seams. Spider venom, and missing kin, and elvish dungeons -- no, Bilbo could not tug at those loose threads any further, for fear they would unravel entirely.

“He is unharmed,” Bilbo said, which he thought was probably true, at least physically, “and he has remembered the last few weeks.” This last, Bilbo was not sure of at all, but if he was wrong, well, he would take whatever consequences came with that when they came, and not before.

“Oh,” said Fili, “oh.” He bowed his head a moment, and Bilbo squeezed his arm. Then Fili looked up and gave a nod, his mouth a firm line. “It is better,” he said. “Better than being out alone in the forest with no-one to watch for him. At least here he will have food and drink and you can talk to him.”

Bilbo tried to smile, but he couldn't help but think of Kili's fingers trying to speak where his tongue could not. “Definitely better,” he said. 

Fili gave a small smile, then. “Thank you for finding my brother, Mister Baggins,” he said. “It seems you are really very good at it.”

“Well, I have been getting a lot of practice!” Bilbo said. “Is there any message you would like me to give him?”

Fili thought about that. “That he should not be frightened, and that we will get him out,” he said. “And -- and would you remind him that I am his brother?”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, and gave Fili's arm one last squeeze before he rose to go. But Fili called after him, low but audible, and Bilbo turned back to look.

“Did Kili have any message for me?” Fili asked.

Bilbo swallowed. “He's not... feeling very talkative,” he said. 

Fili's mouth twitched. “No,” he said softly. “Of course not.”

And Bilbo crept away.

\----

By the time Bilbo returned to Kili's cell, he had thought of quite a number of obvious flaws in the plan they had concocted. He had no idea how often the elvish guards opened the door -- they fed the other dwarves twice a day, but did they do the same with Kili? Once he was inside the cell, he knew he would not be able to leave until the next time the guards came round, and what if that was a day? More than a day? Bilbo had no food or water with him, and he had not told the other dwarves where he was going. Would they think he had abandoned them? Or that he was captured?

These thoughts and more brought trouble to him as he hurried down tunnel after tunnel, but when he finally stood before the stout, locked door and stood once more on tiptoe to peer through the grating, when he saw how Kili sat, hands bound above him and head bowed, he realised that none of it mattered. Thorin was right: he could not leave Kili in there all alone, not if they were to keep him from losing himself again.

He did not speak to Kili this time, nor take off the ring -- perhaps it was rather cowardly of him, but he did not want to see him raise his head, did not want to see that unnerving stare or the line of the gag shadowing his face. Instead, he settled onto the floor in a little alcove a few paces down the tunnel, and waited.

It was some hours before he heard voices carrying down the tunnel towards him, and Bilbo's limbs had all but fallen asleep, the cold of the stone having seeped deeply into his bones. He roused himself, gritting his teeth against the pins and needles that assaulted him at the movement, and after a moment managed to struggle to his feet, supporting himself against the wall until his legs felt like his own again. The voices came closer, and as far as Bilbo knew there was nothing down here but abandoned rooms and Kili's cell, so surely they must be coming here, surely...?

Two elves rounded the corner, bearing a plate with bread and what looked like cheese on it, and Bilbo held his breath and flattened himself against the wall, thinking cold thoughts of ice and endlessly dripping water in the hope that it would make the warmth and breath of his invisible body less noticeable in this barren tunnel. The elves stopped by Kili's door, and one produced a great circle of iron hung with many keys. Bilbo recognised both the elves and the keys, for they were the same that came round bringing food to the cells of all the other dwarves. Here, though, their voices were lower, and they did not call merry insults as they stepped through the door.

Bilbo was so busy concentrating on pretending to be a stone that he almost forgot he was supposed to be slipping into the cell, and in the end he only just scraped through the door before it closed. One of the elves frowned and peered almost in his direction, and Bilbo froze, the breath caught in his throat. But the elf looked for only a moment, and then slid the door shut and locked it. Bilbo moved as quietly as he could to the corner of the cell furthest away from them and sat down, hoping that they would not be too long in feeding Kili.

“Now then, little orc,” said one of the elves in the Common tongue. “Time for dinner.”

Kili did not make the slightest move, nor had he since Bilbo had slipped through the door. He merely sat with his head hanging, as if he was asleep. The taller of the two elves -- a she-elf with long brown hair -- knelt down next to him and grabbed him by the chin, tipping his head up to the light and pulling the gag from his mouth. She squeezed his cheeks until his mouth hung open, and then wrapped her strong fingers around his jaw to keep him from shutting it again. The other elf sat on Kili's other side, tearing off a chunk of the bread and pushing it into Kili's mouth.

Bilbo felt horror rising in his gut. He wanted to jump to his feet and shout at these elves, to tell them that if they would just cut Kili's hands loose, he would eat for himself, that they didn't have to force him. But of course he could do nothing of the sort, but could only watch as they repeated the process over and over, allowing Kili to close his mouth until he had swallowed whatever they had put in it, and then forcing his jaw open again. Kili remained silent and compliant throughout, staring at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. The elves, for their part, passed but a few terse comments in their own tongue, and seemed only to wish to get their task done as quickly as possible. Bilbo, on the other hand, found himself clenching his fists tightly enough that his nails pressed into the skin of his palms, and by the time the food was gone his eyes were filled with tears.

The she-elf forced the gag back into Kili's mouth and let go of his chin, standing in a fluid movement. Kili's head dropped immediately, as if he had not the strength to hold it up, and both elves turned for the door. Bilbo watched them go, watched them close the door and lock it, the key grating in a way that seemed to say _now you are trapped, too_. He heard their footsteps echo in the hallway, quieter and quieter and more and more distant, and then there was no sound in the room but Kili, breathing harshly as though he had been running.

Bilbo sat still for a moment, trying to clear the anger from his mind and the tears from his eyes. Then he drew off the ring and rose slowly to his knees.

“Kili,” he whispered.

Kili did not so much as twitch, and Bilbo shuffled forwards a little and tried again, a little louder. 

“Kili, it's me, it's Bilbo.”

A shudder ran through Kili, then, and he lifted his head, peering at Bilbo through the tangle of his hair. He did not try to sign this time, and Bilbo hoped that that meant he remembered their earlier conversation -- or perhaps the better word was _encounter_ , since _conversation_ usually implied two people talking. Bilbo shuffled forward with painstaking slowness, hands raised so that Kili could see they were empty.

“I'm going to take your gag off,” he said. “I'll try not to hurt you.”

Kili just watched him, and did not flinch as Bilbo, having finally reached him, fumbled with the knots on the gag. In the end, they were too tight for him to make any headway with them, and he found himself having to force the gag over Kili's jaw just as the elf had done. It was made of stiff leather, and it cannot have been pleasant, but Kili made no protest, just closed his mouth and seemed to swallow a few times.

Bilbo sat back on his heels and passed a hand over his eyes. “Do you remember who I am?” he said.

Kili just stared at him, so Bilbo tried again. “Do you know me?”

There was a long moment of silence, and Bilbo began to panic, wondering if it was possible that Kili had forgotten everything they'd taught him in just two days of captivity. But then he coughed and said, “Hobbit.”

“Yes!” Bilbo all but clapped his hands in joy. “I am a hobbit!” The _h_ had been too harsh and the vowels far too thick, but Kili recognised him and even remembered his name (or, at least, what Kili appeared to think was his name). Bilbo was so relieved he couldn't even think of another question to ask, but found himself just beaming and nodding at Kili like it was he who had lost the ability to use his tongue. 

Kili licked his lips. “Hobbit not go,” he said. His voice sounded rather raspy, but Bilbo supposed he had barely used it in two days.

“No,” Bilbo said, hesitating a moment and then patting the little dwarf's knee. Kili didn't flinch away, or even seem really to notice. He had fixed Bilbo with his eyes, and it seemed he would not be distracted. “I won't go for a while, at least.” He glanced quickly at the door, thick and sturdy and now standing between him and what freedom he had previously enjoyed, but he gave no quarter to the misgivings that curled in his stomach.

“ _Nar_ ,” Kili said, and then frowned, but slowly, as if he was thinking at half-speed. “No,” he said. “Not -- not.” He stopped, and Bilbo patted his knee again and gave him his most patient smile. “Not go,” he said finally. “Think -- think go. Dwarfs go. Fili go.”

“Oh,” Bilbo whispered. “Oh, no, Kili, we did not leave you. We would not leave you. We were captured, the same as you. All of us are here.”

Kili blinked at him slowly, and Bilbo chewed his lip and wondered how to explain. 

“Fili _snaga_ ,” he said. “He can't come now because he is a _snaga_.”

Kili frowned and shook his head. “ _Nar_ ,” he said. “Not _snaga_. Fili not _dobat_ , not sad.”

Ah. It seemed there was more to _snaga_ than Bilbo had realised. “He is--” he said, and then thought about it for a moment, and gestured at Kili's cell. “He is in a room, like this,” he said. “The door,” he pointed, “does not open.” He mimed opening the door and shook his head. “He cannot go.” 

Kili seemed to digest that for a moment. “All dwarfs in room?” he said.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “Well, not all in the same room, but -- er, anyway, yes. All in room. And Fili -- he tells you that we will get you out, and he says that you are his brother.”

This seemed to make less than no impression on Kili. “All make not speak?” he asked. 

Bilbo shook his head. “I don't understand.” 

“ _Golug_ make not speak,” Kili said. “Not like _Khozd shrakhun_ speak.”

“ _Golug_ is elves?” Bilbo asked, but Kili just stared at him. He mimed pointy ears. “Elves? _Golug_?” 

“ _Golug_ ,” said Kili. “Not like _Khozd shrakhun_ speak.”

“Kili,” said Bilbo. “Please, your name is Kili.” Somehow hearing the little dwarf refer to himself that way seemed so much worse down here in this dungeon than it had even in the murky air of the forest.

“Not like _Khozd shrakhun_ speak,” Kili insisted.

“They don't like the orc-speech,” Bilbo said. “Orcs have done many bad things to them.”

“ _Khozd shrakhun_ not orc,” said Kili. “Not do bad _golug_.”

Bilbo frowned. “It's elves,” he said. “ _Golug_ is elves.” 

Kili didn't respond to this, but instead repeated his earlier question. “All make not speak?”

Bilbo had to retrace the line of the conversation to unravel the meaning, but after a moment it became clear. “No,” he said. “The other dwarves are not gagged.” He thought about teaching Kili the word _gag_ \-- it was highly relevant to their situation, and he had no doubt it would come in handy -- but he didn't have the stomach for it. “They can speak,” he said instead. “They just cannot go.”

Kili's head began to bow again at that, although Bilbo had no idea what he had said to make it so. “Kili,” he said. “Kili, what is it?”

“Not go,” Kili said, his voice muffled by his hair. 

“I told you, we won't go anywhere. We won't go anywhere without you,” Bilbo said, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

“ _Nar_ ,” said Kili, and lifted his head enough to peer at Bilbo, and his eyes seemed dull and hopeless. “Not can go.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo. “Oh, but we will think of something! We will find a way to go. Kili, you must believe me!” 

But Kili's head was hanging, and he did not reply.

\----

After that, the best Bilbo could cajole out of Kili was a few one-word answers, and there was little time even for that, for a few minutes after Kili's despairing pronouncement, Bilbo heard voices in the corridor again, and he had to hasten to force the gag back into Kili's mouth.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he whispered as he did it, for he could not ask permission nor take the time to be gentle and unthreatening. “They can't know I'm here.”

Kili made no sound, just as when the elves had been manhandling him, and Bilbo hoped desperately that he understood. As it was, he barely had time to put on the ring again before the key rasped in the lock, and a different elf appeared, this time carrying a jug of water. Bilbo remembered then that this was how the other dwarves were always fed -- the two elves coming round with the food and the third with the water. Normally they came almost together, but it seemed in this case they were separated, and Bilbo debated within himself for a moment or two about whether to stay for who knew how long or to make his escape now, but in the end the idea of watching this elf force water down Kili's throat was unpleasant enough that he slipped out of the door just as the elf was closing it behind him. He hurried away as fast as he could, for he did not want to hear if this elf would call Kili an orc.

By now, Bilbo was beginning to feel extremely hungry and thirsty, and he had not slept in longer than he cared to remember. But he could not leave Thorin pacing and fretting for longer than necessary, and so he turned his steps towards the dwarf king's cell, wishing it were a little closer to Kili's, and losing himself at least twice along the way.

Thorin was on his feet when Bilbo arrived, just as he had imagined, and once again he was at the bars as soon as Bilbo slipped off the ring.

“What news?” he said. “I had thought you would be trapped in there for hours yet.”

“A stroke of luck,” Bilbo said. “And Kili spoke to me, and he remembers, he remembers who I am and who Fili is, and most of the words I have taught him.” 

Thorin closed his eyes at that, and leaned his forehead against the bars, whispering something in the dwarven tongue. Bilbo resisted the urge to pat him on the arm, for he suspected that the gratitude that Thorin had expressed to him earlier would only go so far. 

“And how does he seem?” Thorin asked, opening his eyes again. 

“Well, he's -- he's not very happy,” Bilbo said. “But he's still Kili.” 

Thorin's face twisted at that, and he turned away. Bilbo frowned. “What?” he said. “What is it?”

“My nephew has not been Kili for many years, master hobbit,” Thorin said quietly. “I think he will not be Kili again.”

“What?” Bilbo said. “Well -- but that's ridiculous! Who else would he be?” 

“He is what the orcs made him,” Thorin said, sinking down to sit on the narrow bed. “They know their business well.” 

“Now you sound like those dratted elves,” Bilbo said. “They seem to think he is quite orcish.”

“He is orcish,” said Thorin, and Bilbo felt his mouth drop open. 

“He is a dwarf!” he said. “Is it not you who is constantly telling me he is a dwarf?”

“A dwarf in body,” Thorin said, and he sounded indescribably sad. “But you have heard how he speaks, when his tongue is untrammelled. When he can speak his own language, you have heard his thoughts. Do not tell me they are the thoughts of a dwarf.”

Bilbo found himself quite unable to speak for a moment, and Thorin seemed to take this as agreement, which of course it was not at all. He put his head in his hands, and it seemed he would be quite content to sit there and brood on his ridiculous thoughts until they all died of old age, but he had not counted on how much disruption an absolutely furious hobbit can cause. 

“Well,” said Bilbo, and then he said it again, for his thoughts were quite in a muddle, all piling up at his mouth trying to be the first one out. “Well, Thorin Oakenshield, yes, I have heard his thoughts. As a matter of fact, I have heard far more of his thoughts than you have, seeing as how you very rarely even try to speak to him.”

Thorin looked up at that, raising his face from his hands with an expression of astonishment. Bilbo took advantage of the fact that he was too stunned to speak and ploughed ahead.

“Yes,” he said, “maybe he does say some things that are -- difficult sometimes, but that's not him, that's those blasted orcs and the silly ideas they put into his head. I have spent almost every blessed minute of my time with that poor lad over the last weeks, and I can tell you that there's no more orc in him than there is in you or me. But we aren't exactly going to persuade him that the orcs have got it all wrong if we just go around assuming he's a _snaga_ because he thinks he is one, now, are we?”

Thorin looked utterly bemused. “What is a _snaga_?” he said.

“I don't _know_ ,” said Bilbo. “That's not the point!”

Thorin got to his feet, now, and the shock on his face was beginning to turn to anger. “And what is your point, Mr. Baggins?”

“My point is that he is not orcish,” Bilbo said. “My point is that you have listened only to what he has said when he cannot make himself understood except in the Black Speech. You have heard him say that he thinks the weak should be killed and that he has no mother and that prisoners' tongues make excellent food--” Thorin's face blanched, and Bilbo realised he hadn't actually heard that one, but he had a head of steam now and he would not be dissuaded, “--but you haven't heard him telling me how much he wants to learn your dratted sign language, or learn all the names of flowers, or insist that he's a dwarf. You haven't heard any of it, Thorin, because you won't talk to him.”

Bilbo finally ran out of words, and he stood, breathing heavily, and feeling suddenly rather glad that there was a set of sturdy bars between him and Thorin. He braced himself for the fury that he knew would follow his outburst, and indeed Thorin's face was pale and his eyes bright, but when he spoke, it was in a low tone, so low Bilbo had to step closer to hear it.

“And what do you suggest I do?” he said. “He cringes from every word I say. Cringes! My own nephew! Would you have me force myself upon him and scare him until he will not speak at all?”

Bilbo's anger ebbed a little, and he felt obscurely guilty. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, but it isn't you. He does that to everybody.” 

“And that is somehow better?” Thorin asked. “What they have done to him--” His voice cracked a little, and he put a hand over his eyes. 

At this, Bilbo's anger was swept away entirely, and he felt only a wash of pity such as he never thought he would feel for the haughty dwarf king. He crept closer to the bars, but he did not reach to touch Thorin.

“It is terrible,” he said. “But he is still Kili. We can help him. We can, you must believe me.” And he was reminded of saying the very same words to Kili just hours before.

“You do not even know him,” Thorin said. “You know nothing of what he was before they took him.”

Bilbo sighed. “Then tell me something,” he said. 

Thorin stood silent for a long moment, his head bowed, face drawn in grief. 

“He was my nephew,” he said finally. “And then he was gone.”

And he turned away, and would speak no more.


	16. Chapter 16

After a great deal of sitting in the alcove outside Kili's cell, absorbing the chill of the stone into every part of his body, Bilbo made two observations. The first was that, while the other dwarves were fed twice a day, Kili was only fed once. The second was that the water bearer never came with the food bearers. Bilbo did not care to investigate the reasons behind this, but only counted it as a stroke of good fortune, for it meant that he could slip into Kili's cell with one and come out with the other, and not find himself trapped in there for a full day at a time. So it was that he found himself once more huddled in the corner the day after he had found Kili, closing his eyes and plugging his ears so he would not have to hear or see the process of feeding again.

When the two elves had gone on their way, Bilbo took off the ring and called Kili's name, just as he had the day before. And as before, Kili did not respond at first, but this time Bilbo called twice more before the little dwarf lifted his head and blinked at him with shadowed eyes. 

“I've come back,” Bilbo said, and smiled, reaching for the gag and pushing it over Kili's lower jaw as gently as he could. “I'm sorry I was so long.”

Kili just stared at him, and Bilbo started to feel a little worried. But no, he had worried yesterday, and Kili had just needed a little time. It was understandable, all his hours spent alone down here in the dark. It could not be good for the mind.

But a moment passed, and another, and Kili just stared. Bilbo chewed his lip. “Do you remember me?” he asked. “Do you know me, Kili?”

Kili did not reply, and Bilbo was certainly worried now. He laid a hand on his chest. “I'm a hobbit,” he said. “Hobbit.”

“Hobbit,” whispered Kili, after a long, nerve-wracking pause, and Bilbo let out a sigh of relief. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, exactly.” 

“Hobbit not _ukh_ ,” said Kili, and Bilbo frowned.

“I don't understand,” he said. 

“Not _ukh_ ,” said Kili. “Not _ukh_.”

“Kili,” Bilbo said, “I don't understand. What is _ukh_?”

Kili's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. “ _Ukh_ ,” he said. “Not -- not _ukh_?” Bilbo shrugged helplessly, and Kili frowned. “Dwarfs -- room,” he said. “Not can _ukh_.”

“Go!” Bilbo said. “ _Ukh_ is go.” And then he frowned himself. “But Kili, you know that word.”

Kili licked his lips. “Not go,” he said.

Bilbo sighed. “We will not go,” he said slowly. “Listen to me.” He held Kili's gaze. “When we go, you will go with us.”

Kili blinked slowly at Bilbo, his eyes seeming huge in the dim light.

“Well, then,” Bilbo said, feeling suddenly rather uncomfortable. “I have a message for you. You are to remember that Fili is your brother.”

Kili didn't reply, and Bilbo considered changing the subject, but he wanted to make sure that Kili had understood. “Did you hear me?” he said. “Fili is your brother.”

“Fili,” said Kili.

Bilbo nodded. “He is your brother,” he insisted. “Fili is your brother.”

“Fili brother,” mumbled Kili, dropping his gaze to the floor, and Bilbo felt suddenly that he perhaps should not have pushed so hard.

“It's all right,” he said. “Come, now. I only tell you so because it is true, and because he loves you. It is not meant to be a punishment.” 

“Not punish,” Kili muttered, but his heart did not seem to be in it, and Bilbo had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that he was repeating words that he no longer knew the meaning of. He shifted closer to Kili, ducking his head to try and look him in the face.

“Kili,” he said. “Kili, listen. Don't give up, my lad. Come on, let's start again.” He looked around for something familiar, and took hold of a strand of Kili's hair. “Hair. Do you remember that one? Hair.”

Kili didn't look up from the floor, and Bilbo tugged gently on his hair. “Hair,” he said.

“Hair,” said Kili finally, raising his eyes to meet Bilbo. “Know hair. Not forgot.”

Bilbo smiled at that. “Well, that is a relief,” he said. “I do so hate repeating myself!” 

“ _Golug_ speak _Khozd shrakhun_ orc,” Kili said. Bilbo frowned, trying to pick apart the words.

“The elves speak -- you are an orc?” he said. “The elves call you an orc?”

Kili nodded. “Not orc,” he said, but he sounded troubled.

“No,” Bilbo said firmly, privately cursing the elves, who had said barely two words to Kili and yet had still managed to find his soft spots. “You are certainly not an orc, and those elves do not know anything. You're a dwarf.” 

“ _Snaga_ ,” said Kili. “ _Khozd shrakhun snaga_.”

“No,” Bilbo said again, and he prodded Kili in the chest. “Dwarf,” he said emphatically. “Kili is a dwarf. You are a dwarf.”

Kili stared at him, and Bilbo prodded again. “Dwarf,” he said.

“I'm dwarf,” said Kili, and he straightened up a little, nodding. “Yes.”

Bilbo smiled. “Yes,” he said.

\---- 

Thorin was sitting on his bed when Bilbo arrived at his cell, and he did not come to the bars when Bilbo took off the ring, but only gave a tired nod of greeting. 

“It is good to see you well,” he said. “And how are my nephews?”

“They are both well,” Bilbo said, although Fili had been very quiet when Bilbo had last visited him and Kili was -- well. 

“That is good to hear,” Thorin said, and lapsed into silence, staring at the opposite wall of his cell. Bilbo wondered what he was brooding on now, although after the last conversation they had had he thought perhaps he had an idea. He had never seen the dwarf king look so worn, even when he had been injured by the orcs. The long days in confinement were grinding them all down, and Bilbo feared there might be many more to come.

He tried to think of something cheerful to say, or anything to talk about at all apart from the predicament they were in, but nothing would come to mind, and in the end it was Thorin who broke the silence.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said, not taking his eyes from the wall, “do you truly believe that my nephew can still be saved?”

Bilbo felt his mouth fall open a little, but he shut it soon enough, for there was no time for gaping, not if they were to talk about this. “I don't believe it,” he said firmly. “I know it.”

Thorin looked round at him then, and there was something in his face that made Bilbo feel he was being measured. He lifted his chin and stood with shoulders squared, returning Thorin's gaze without flinching, though he rather wanted to. And Thorin nodded and rose to his feet, coming to the bars now.

“It seems I am always asking you favours, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

“I take it that means you want something,” Bilbo said.

Thorin was silent for long enough to set nerves jangling in Bilbo's stomach as he imagined just what it was the dwarf king would want this time. But when at last he spoke, it was nothing frightening or even dangerous that he asked, although certainly it would prove to be exhausting and sometimes painful.

“Would you tell me about him?” Thorin asked.

\----

The tale was long in the telling, for Bilbo left out no detail that he could remember, knowing that this might be his best chance to convince Thorin that his nephew was far from orcish. At times, Thorin grew pale and grim -- and Bilbo did his best to skim over the conversation he had had with Kili about the eating of tongues, but Thorin's lips drew tightly together all the same -- and at others, Bilbo thought he saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. But sometimes, the dwarf king smiled, and once he even laughed, a small laugh but a true one. And when Bilbo at last fell silent, he sat on the bed and seemed to think for a long time, long enough that Bilbo found himself almost dozing off. But his face was not dark or angry, although there was sadness in it still, and when he looked up again, he seemed to have come to a decision.

“I am sorry I was not there to see these things,” he said.

Bilbo smiled at that, for it gave him more hope than anything he had heard for some days. “But you can be,” he said. “It takes him a little while to get used to new people, but he speaks to Bifur now, and even Bofur and Ori, too -- or, he did before we ended up in here, anyway. You just need to be very patient.”

“Patience is not my strong suit,” Thorin sighed, and Bilbo privately agreed wholeheartedly. 

“But surely you can manage, if it means you will get your nephew back,” he said.

Thorin stayed silent, but Bilbo did not think it was a silence of disagreement. His face was still troubled, though, and Bilbo had the sinking feeling that there was still more to come, although he felt already quite wrung out with too much talking and too much feeling. 

“And if he does not want me back?” Thorin asked.

“Of course he wants you back,” Bilbo said. “You are his uncle.” He was rather glad Thorin was not his own uncle, and he was sure there were times when Fili wished for someone a little... warmer -- and perhaps Kili had done so, too, when he still understood what an uncle was -- but kin was kin, after all.

“He does not even know what that means,” Thorin said.

“But he will one day,” Bilbo replied. “If you can show him what it means, then one day I know he will truly understand. But if you just glare at him from a safe distance, well, what will he think an uncle is then?”

“He will truly understand,” murmured Thorin.

Bilbo nodded firmly. “He is learning all the time.” Or he was, he thought, before he was languishing in an elvish dungeon.

“And when he truly understands, what then?” Thorin asked. “When he understands what happened to him, and that I did nothing to prevent it, will he still want me for an uncle then?”

“Oh, no,” Bilbo said, feeling frustration well up within him. “Thorin, no, you must stop this. It was not your fault, and drowning in guilt will not help anyone, least of all Kili.”

“What do you know of fault or blame?” Thorin said, suddenly at the bars again, eyes snapping in the torchlight. “The worst you have done in your soft little life is to undersalt the soup or to fail to greet your neighbour when he passes. I swore, Bilbo Baggins, I swore to my sister when their father died that I would stand always between them and their enemies. And then I let the orcs take him, as if he was nothing more than a trinket I no longer cared for. How can there be forgiveness for such a failure?”

Bilbo found himself stunned into silence (although feeling a little hard done-by at the implication that he had ever undersalted a pot of soup in his life). “But you didn't know!” he said. “Did you ever even think he might not be dead?”

“No!” Thorin said, vehement as though he had asked himself the same question more than once, and then, more quietly, “No. We found his clothes. There were bones, dwarf bones, the right size.” He sank a little, staring at something Bilbo couldn't see. “They had been -- chewed.” 

Bilbo felt his stomach turn at that. He hoped Fili had not been there when they had found these things.

Thorin closed his eyes. “They lie now in a tomb in the Blue Mountains. His mother goes there every year.”

Bilbo wondered who the poor nameless dwarf child was whose bones now lay under someone else's tombstone, wept over by strangers. It was just one more tragedy to add to the tally of grief, and Bilbo remembered Fili's fury when they had first encountered orcs, how he had sworn to wipe them from the earth, and he felt something of the same spark within himself.

Thorin leaned forward then, wrapping his hands around the bars once more, and when he spoke, his voice was raw with regret. “If I had known -- if I had ever suspected that he still drew breath, I would have torn those mountains down stone by stone until I found him.” 

“Well, then,” Bilbo said, and his own voice came out a little ragged, and he had to clear his throat. “It is hardly your fault, now, is it? You did everything you could.”

Thorin bowed his head. “And if you were in his place?” he said. “Would you forgive me?”

“Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo sighed, and he did reach through the bars now, laying his hand on the dwarf king's arm. “I would not have blamed you in the first place.”

\----

Bilbo found himself rather at a loose end after his conversation with Thorin. It was still most of a day until he would be able to slip back into Kili's cell, and although he stopped by Fili and some of the other dwarves, they all seemed downhearted and quiet, and even Bofur's spirits were rather damp. He found himself wandering the tunnels, stepping out of the way of elves who passed by and trying to improve the map of the place that he held in his mind. It was tricky work, with so many interconnecting passageways and rooms, and it took all his attention, which he was grateful for, for it meant he could not dwell on their situation nor on the troubling way all the dwarves seemed to be losing heart. He passed by the great door of the fortress just as it was closing behind a returning elf patrol, led by the red-headed she-elf he had seen before. He caught just a glimpse of twisted trees before the door ground shut, and felt a great pang of homesickness for the outside world, even for the stultifying air of the forest. He remembered the great blue dome of the sky and the butterflies that had swooped around him when he had climbed the tree to look for the way, before the spiders and before the elves. It was hard to believe he could be nostalgic for the grim, gloomy trek through Mirkwood. Hard to believe that since then, things had become so much worse.

He stole food, and slept on the cold floor in an empty room, and when morning came -- if morning it was -- he resumed his wandering, tunnel after tunnel, room after room. He found himself once in a wine cellar, the largest one he knew of, with barrels and barrels stacked up around the wall. A number of elves were rolling a new barrel in, and they talked lightly among themselves in their own language, laughing at something as they rolled the barrel into place. A number of empty barrels stood stacked in the centre of the room, and as Bilbo watched, one of the elves took hold of a great wooden lever that protruded from the floor and pulled. And then Bilbo discovered something that he had not known, something that, for the first time since the great fortress door had first closed behind him, made his heart leap with hope.

There was another door.

As the elf pulled the lever, the floor under the barrels seemed to tilt, upending itself, and the barrels began to roll, cascading down the newly-formed ramp and through the square hole that had appeared beneath them. Through the hole, Bilbo glimpsed rushing water and rocks dark with spray and daylight, blessed, glorious daylight. It was _outside_ , and although it was still far, far away from the dwarves in their locked cells, it was something. It was something.

A new voice made Bilbo look round, and he saw two elves he recognised -- the food bearers -- calling what must have been farewells and they took to the steps out of the cellar. It was then that he realised the time, and, with one last glance at the bright square of daylight as it narrowed and was finally swallowed up entirely by the wooden floor, he hurried from the room in the direction of Kili's cell.

\---- 

This time, no amount of calling his name would rouse Kili, and Bilbo eventually had to put a hand on his chin -- though slowly, oh so slowly -- and lift his head himself so that he could push the gag from his mouth. Kili did not look at him, his eyes half-lidded and fixed on the floor, and Bilbo felt the worry that had stirred in his stomach all day begin to knot and churn.

“Come on, now,” he said, brushing Kili's hair back from his face. “Come on, now, my lad, it is all right. Hobbit not go. Not go.”

Kili stirred a little, then, and his eyes drifted up to Bilbo's face. “Hobbit,” he said. “Not go.”

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo said. “That is exactly right. Hobbit not go.” He let go of Kili's chin, and, to his relief, the little dwarf kept his head up, though his eyes drifted around the cell and only lighted on Bilbo from time to time. He was unhappy, that was all, Bilbo thought, of course he was unhappy, down here with nobody to talk to and with that wretched gag in his mouth all day. He cast around for something to talk about, but his mind was fluttering with unease, and all he could think to do was make sure that Kili knew who and what he was.

“Dwarf,” he said, and pointed at Kili. “Come on, Kili. You're a dwarf.”

Kili's eyes drifted to his finger, then up along his arm. “Dwarf,” he said.

“You're a dwarf,” Bilbo insisted.

“I'm dwarf,” Kili said, and his eyes seemed to clear a little. “Dwarf, yes.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo. “You're a dwarf, and Fili is your brother.”

“Fili brother,” murmured Kili. “Is brother.”

“Good,” Bilbo said. “That's very good. That's very good, Kili.”

Kili blinked at him, but his stare had none of the intensity that it had had before, for it seemed like he would only look at Bilbo for a few seconds at a time and then glance away, as though he was frightened of what might happen if he looked too long. 

“ _Golug thrakut kamab-izishu_ ,” he said. “ _Nar kamab mir._ ”

“I don't understand,” Bilbo said. “You know I don't speak the orc-speech. I speak it like a potato, remember?” He tried to smile, but Kili just stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“ _Nar srinkshalat_ ,” he said.

“ _Srink_ \-- but that is _understand_ ,” Bilbo said. “You know how to say that! _Srink_ is _understand_!”

“Understand,” said Kili. “ _Nar_ understand.”

“No,” Bilbo said, “you do. I haven't used any words you don't know. You just need to think.” He tapped the side of the little dwarf's head. “Think, Master Kili.”

“Hobbit _flasat hiisarz_ ,” Kili said. “ _Khozd shrakhun nar_ understand.”

Bilbo's stomach sank, and he stared at Kili. “You must speak Common,” he said. “Hobbit-speak. The elves don't like it when you speak orc-speak.”

“Hobbit-speak,” said Kili. “ _Golug vrasubutizish_ speak orc-speak.”

“Oh, this is hopeless,” Bilbo muttered, and then immediately regretted his choice of words. An unpleasant idea was forming in his mind, and although he tried to unravel it before it could begin, it was persistent, and nibbled on the edges of his thoughts, for it seemed to him that Kili did not even have a clear idea of what language he was speaking at any given time. One thing was undeniable, though -- his speech was far more orcish than it had been only two days before, and that would have been troubling at the best of times, but in their current situation it could become perilous indeed.

“Kili, please,” he tried again. “No orc-speak. Speak hobbit-speak.”

“ _Khozd shrakhun_ speak hobbit-speak,” Kili said, but his eyes were drifting away again. “Not punish.”

Bilbo put his head in his hands. “Those wretched elves,” he muttered, and swore to himself that if he should ever make it back to Rivendell, he would tell Elrond exactly what he thought of his cousins beyond the Misty Mountains. But that day, should it ever come, was far in the future, and Bilbo had to deal with the problems he had now. He cast around for something that might bring Kili a little closer to him, draw him away from the world of darkness and punishment he was drifting back to, and he remembered a little cake he had stolen from the kitchen earlier, that still sat in his pocket, sweet and light, with nothing dark about it at all.

“Kili,” he said, slipping his hand in his pocket and closing his fingers around the cake. “I brought you something.” He pulled it out, brushing off the pocket fluff and inspecting it critically. Good enough, he decided. “Kili.”

Kili looked up, and Bilbo smiled and nodded and held out the cake to him. But the moment the sweetmeat touched his lips, Kili turned his head sharply away. 

Bilbo sat back on his heels in dismay. “I should let you eat it yourself,” he said. “Of course I should.” But he could not, because the elvish knots that held Kili's hands above his head were far too tight for him to untie, even if he thought he would be able to retie them again if anyone came past. “I can't,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

Kili kept his head turned away, and Bilbo found that he had crushed the little cake between his fingers without even realising it.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

\----

Bilbo went to see Thorin immediately after leaving Kili's cell, as he was becoming accustomed to do. The journey seemed even further than usual, and by the time he was halfway there, his stomach was aching with unease. They had been here now for -- it took him a moment to remember, for it seemed like an endless succession of hurrying through dark tunnels and trying to be cheerful to grim-faced dwarves -- four days? Five? It was not such a long time, surely, and yet Kili seemed to be fading before his eyes, less of him every time Bilbo saw him. Four days in darkness, bound and silent and alone. Enough to start to gnaw on the edges of any dwarf, he supposed, let alone one who barely remembered anything but chains and harsh words.

Thorin nodded briefly at him when he appeared, much less enthused than he had been in the previous days, but then he frowned and stood. “Mr. Baggins?” he said. “What has happened?”

Bilbo had been debating with himself how much to tell the dwarf king -- for perhaps he was just imagining it all, perhaps Kili was merely tired and dispirited as they all were, and even if it was more than that, what could Thorin do about it but fret and pace and feel even more helpless than Bilbo? -- but when the question came so directly, he found himself gaping, pinned by Thorin's piercing eyes, and no pleasant lie would come to his tongue.

“I'm afraid,” he said.

Thorin did not scoff as Bilbo might have expected him to, but only regarded him gravely. “There is no shame in it,” he said. “These last days have not been easy for any of us.”

“But,” Bilbo said, and tried to set his thoughts in order, tried to set them in such an order that they would express what it was he feared with no shadow on their meaning, “I am afraid for Kili.”

Thorin grew still at that. “Something has happened,” he said. 

“No,” Bilbo said, because it was no event, no one thing he could point to. “But every time I see him, he seems a little more--”

“Orcish,” Thorin finished for him, and Bilbo cursed himself for not having found a better word in time, for it was not orcishness he saw in Kili, though the orc tongue seemed to claim him a little more every day.

“No,” he said, “no, it is not that. But he is losing his words. They do not treat him well, they tell him he is an orc, and I think-- I think--”

Thorin's face grew grim as Bilbo stuttered to a stop. Bilbo wanted to tell him how Kili would not accept kindness from him, how sometimes he thought Kili didn't even know he was speaking Black Speech instead of Common. But it was as if his own command of speech had left him, and there was only one word he could think of to describe what he saw in Kili.

“I think he is becoming a _snaga_ ,” he said.

Thorin half turned away. “The elf king calls him an abomination,” he said, and Bilbo noticed for the first time that his voice was hoarse, as if he had been shouting. “He does not believe that any could spend so long with the orcs and not become corrupted.”

“He is not corrupted!” Bilbo said. “And even if he were, it would not be his fault.”

“Oh, they do not blame him,” Thorin said. “Perhaps some of them even pity him. But I fear pity will not stay their hands when the time comes.”

“What?” Bilbo said, feeling a creeping horror in his stomach. “Thorin, what are you saying? What is going to happen?”

Thorin closed his eyes and brought his thumb and forefinger up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The lifetime of a dwarf is no more than a blink of an eye to an elf,” he said. “They could keep us here until we die of old age and never notice the difference. But if what you say is true, Kili--” He bowed his head as if in resignation. “I am afraid they will kill him.”

“They can't!” Bilbo said. “He has done nothing wrong!”

“The elf king speaks of death as a mercy,” Thorin said, and even though the fury still thrummed through his voice, it was more distant, now, shot through with something more like despair. “As if he knew aught of either.”

“But you can't just let them!” Bilbo said. “It's not fair!” 

Thorin turned to look at him, then, and if Bilbo had been slightly further away from the bars -- say, several hundred yards -- he might have been pleased to see the resignation on his face had evaporated, replaced by snapping anger. But as it was, Bilbo caught Thorin's furious glare full in the face, and it took all he had not to cower.

“What in this life is fair, master hobbit?” Thorin asked. “Was it fair when the dragon took our home from us? Was it fair when the orcs killed my grandfather and sent my father mad? Was it fair when my brother--” But here he stopped, and seemed to draw himself together, leaning his forehead against the bars of his cage and closing his eyes a moment. When he opened them again, his expression was tight and cold. “No,” he said. “This is the final revenge of my old enemy. They took my nephew from me, and now they will see him murdered by the very folk who by rights should give him nothing but pity, while I stand idly by just as before.”

Bilbo shook his head. “We can't just give up,” he said. “There must be something I can do.”

Thorin stood a moment in silence, and Bilbo stood, too, dreading his reply. But then the dwarf king fixed him with his gaze again, and there was something in it that seemed akin to hope.

“Can you get him out, master burglar?” he said. “Is there any way you could get him out?”

“I--” Bilbo remembered the second door he had found, many minutes' walk from Kili's cell, and with a great drop into a rushing river beneath it. But even so, rescuing one dwarf would certainly be unutterably easier than rescuing thirteen. “I don't know,” he said. “I -- I may be able to, if I can just think, if I can have some time. But Thorin, even if I could, they would know I was there, then. They would double the guard on you and the other dwarves and who knows what else. It would be nigh impossible to get any of the rest of you out.”

Thorin seemed to retreat into himself a little. “To rot away in an elvish dungeon,” he said, as if to himself. “A poor fate indeed for the King Under the Mountain.” And then his attention was back on Bilbo. “But that is none of your concern,” he said. “You must get my nephew out, if you can.”

“And -- and Erebor?” Bilbo asked. “And all your gold?” 

Thorin sank into a crouch, putting himself on a level with Bilbo.

“You must get my nephew out,” he said. 

\----

Bilbo's thoughts were whirling as he hurried down the tunnels away from Thorin's cell. He had no real plan as yet, nothing but the spark of hope that had been lit by the discovery of the river door, and the fear that lent urgency to all his actions. He knew, though, that he must act as soon as he could, and he knew also that it would be the hardest thing he could expect to do in his life, to leave all these dwarves -- these friends of his -- behind with little hope that he could ever come back. When they had stood on his doorstep and tramped mud into his carpets and eaten every scrap of food in his pantry, he would have done anything to rid himself of this rude, noisy, ill-mannered band of strangers, but now he felt he would give everything he had, Bag End and everything in it and perhaps even his own life if it meant he could find a way out for them all.

But he could see no way -- could not even see a way for himself and Kili, not yet -- and he found his footsteps turning along familiar paths, for if an opportunity arose he would have to take it and not look back, and if that were to happen he did not want his friends to languish without knowing why he had never come back.

It was to Fili's cell, then, that he found himself hastening, and when he arrived there he slipped the ring from his finger with barely a glance to check that it was safe, and Fili rose to his feet in alarm, for Bilbo was quite out of breath and most probably rather red in the face.

“Bilbo!” said Fili. “Are you quite well?”

Bilbo took a moment to catch his breath, and realised he had not the first idea what it was he wanted to say. _Goodbye_ seemed so inadequate, but to try and explain--

But no. He must try and explain.

“I have to tell you something,” he said. “It's about your brother.”

\----

Fili's face grew pale as Bilbo told his story, first the bonds and the gag, the force-feeding and the changes that had come over Kili and then the fears that Thorin harboured, and finally his own promise, to somehow rescue Kili from his bleak fate, even if it meant leaving all the other dwarves behind. He sank to his knees on the floor of his cell, eyes wide and hands clenched around the bars until his fingers were white and bloodless. And when the recitation was done, he stared at Bilbo and it seemed he could not speak for a moment.

“Why did you not tell me?” he asked at last.

“There was nothing you could do,” Bilbo said. “You would only have made yourself sick with worry.” It seemed foolish, now, but at the time Bilbo had thought it would be easier on all of them.

Fili closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the bars. Bilbo clasped one of his tightly-clenched hands in both his own.

“I just wanted you to know, in case I don't get a chance come back,” he said. “I didn't want you to think I had just abandoned you. I'm sorry.”

Fili laughed, then, but the sound of it was harsh, and it echoed oddly in the little cell.

“Again you apologise for doing my family a great service,” he said, raising his head and looking Bilbo in the face, and although his eyes were bright with tears, he was smiling. “I would spend my life in this dungeon three times over if I thought it would save my brother, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo could hardly bring himself to understand the words, such was the depth of feeling in them. “He is lucky,” he said, “to be loved so deeply, even if he does not know it.”

The tears spilled over from Fili's eyes, and he dashed them away with the back of his hand. “I know you will take care of him,” he said. “Take him to Ered Luin, if you can. My mother--” He closed his eyes a moment. “Tell her I am well, and that I will be cheerful, and that I remain forever at her service.”

Bilbo nodded, and he realised he was crying himself only when Fili became rather blurry before him. “I won't let him forget who his brother is,” he said. “I'll make sure he knows. And if there's any chance, any chance at all for me to come back and rescue you all--”

Fili opened his mouth, but then his eyes grew wide, and in that moment Bilbo heard light footsteps approaching. He fumbled in his pocket, barely managing to get the ring on his finger before the red-headed elf guard appeared, and he had to throw himself out of the way so that she would not fall over him. He lay where he had fallen, heart thundering so loudly that he was sure she would hear it, and she paused in her steps just inches away from him. Bilbo was certain he had been caught, but she did not look at him, but instead turned to Fili, who still sat on the floor of his cell.

“Master dwarf,” she said, “are you weeping?”

Bilbo saw Fili pass his sleeve across his eyes again. “No,” he said. “Dwarves do not weep.”

“All creatures weep, little one,” the elf said. “But not usually without cause. Have my guards treated you ill?”

“No, it's nothing like--” Fili drew a breath, and then seemed to make a decision, looking up at the elf with eyes still bright with tears. “I am afraid for my brother's life,” he said. “Would you be able to tell me if he is here?”

“I doubt it not,” the elf said. “It seems our cells are full to bursting with dwarves these last days. But was your brother with you when you trespassed on our lands?” 

Fili nodded stiffly, and the elf laughed. “Well, then, be not afraid, master dwarf. If he was with you, then he is caught, and if he is caught, then he is safe, for no harm shall come to him at our hands.”

Fili stood then, and approached the bars. “He is my height, more or less,” he said. “Dark hair, skinny,” he made a motion across his shoulders, “no beard to speak of. Have you seen a dwarf like that, my lady?”

“I am no lady,” said the elf, frowning a little now. “And -- there is no dwarf like that in our cells. Not one that could be your brother.”

“But he must be here,” Fili insisted. “If he is not here, then where is he?”

The elf looked away from him then. “Perhaps he was taken by the spiders,” she said. “Or perhaps you only imagined you had a brother.”

Fili's face darkened at that. “Would you mock me?” he said. “Do the elves care nothing for kin, that you can be so heartless?”

The elf looked quite astonished at this. “I do not mean to mock, master dwarf,” she said. And then she sank to one knee outside Fili's cell. “Do not weep,” she said. “If I should see your brother, I will tell him you are looking for him.”

Fili blinked at that. “Thank you, my lady,” he said.

The elf rose gracefully to her feet. “Do not thank me, for I do not think I shall see him,” she said, and turned to go. But she glanced back over her shoulder before she had quite turned the corner and slipped out of sight. “And my name is Tauriel,” she said.

Fili watched her go, and then he turned to face the apparently empty corridor before him.

“Follow her, Bilbo,” he muttered.

\----

Tauriel, Bilbo knew, was an elf of some importance in the palace guard, who seemed often to be at the head of patrols as they marched in and out of the great gate, and gave orders that were followed without question, though what they were Bilbo could not tell. He knew she had skill with a bow, and had no doubt she could fight well with other weapons, too.

She was also fast. Very fast.

Bilbo found himself almost having to run to keep up with her as she strode through the tunnels, stopping at this room and that, exchanging words with some of the guards, checking on supplies and long rolls of parchment covered in elvish writing. He tried to keep a list in his mind of everything she did and everywhere she went, for there was no saying what might turn into a plan, an opportunity for escape. Twice, he almost lost her, and once he did, and it was only by luck that she happened to retrace her steps and pass by him again as he stood helplessly glancing up and down the tunnel. After an hour of following in her footsteps, Bilbo found himself quite exhausted, and still no closer to a plan than he had been. 

And then she turned her steps down a familiar path, and Bilbo found himself no longer having to concentrate so hard on where they were going, for there could only be one destination.

Kili's cell.

Tauriel stopped outside the heavy door and produced a key from her pocket. Bilbo had seen her take it from one of the other elves earlier, the food bearer who bore the great iron ring of keys at his waist. She slipped it into the lock and turned it, and Bilbo slipped through just before she closed and locked the door behind her.

Kili sat as he always sat, head hanging in the little square of light that shone in from the door. He neither moved nor spoke, nor indeed seemed to have any idea that anyone had entered his cell or that anything had changed at all. Tauriel stood before him, regarding him silently, and Bilbo was just beginning to wonder if this was some kind of elvish equivalent of an arm-wrestling competition when she spoke.

“So you are the orc-friend,” she said. 

Kili, of course, made no response, and Tauriel sank down to one knee, reaching out and lifting his chin, but gently, with none of the hostility that the food-bearing elves showed. Kili let his face be lifted to the light, but he kept his eyes downcast, and his expression was blank and utterly still. Tauriel tilted her head a little, peering into Kili's face, and then she reached behind him with one hand and untied the knots of his gag with deft fingers, keeping her other hand on his chin. The gag came away easily, and she pulled it gently from his mouth.

“They tell me you are all fury, and that you have teeth like a warg,” she said. “And yet, it seems I still have all my fingers.”

Kili did not reply. Tauriel ran a finger of her free hand across his cheek.

“It is true you have no beard, at least for your kind,” she said. “And you are too small. If they had not told me it was so, I would think you are not a dwarf at all.”

Kili's expression flickered at that. “I'm dwarf,” he said, voice sounding rather rusty, and his eyes flicked up to Tauriel's before he fixed them back on the floor. Tauriel's eyes grew wide.

“Then you do speak Westron,” she said. “I had been told that you knew nothing of it.”

Kili did not speak, but Tauriel was inspecting him more closely now, as if fascinated. “And can it then be possible that you have a brother?” she asked, as if talking to herself.

Kili twitched again. “Fili brother,” he said hoarsely, and Bilbo must have made a noise of some sort, though he was biting his fists to keep from doing so, because Tauriel glanced quickly over her shoulder, frowning in his general direction. She turned back when she saw nothing, though, and Bilbo bit down harder on his knuckles.

“Fili,” she said. “Is that his name?”

Kili had become still and silent once more, and Tauriel let his head fall and rose to her feet, taking a couple of paces away and then turning once more to face him.

“And yet, orcs do not have brothers,” she said. “How is it that you come by one who cares so much for you?” She tilted her head again. “Or should I ask how it is that you come by the Black Speech?”

Kili could have been carved from stone. Tauriel stooped, taking his chin in her hand again, and this time she tipped it further, peering not this time into his face but at his neck. The dark iron of his collar lay like a shadow across his throat, and she looked closely and ran a fingertip along it.

“This is not of elvish make, nor yet dwarvish,” she said, and drew her hand away as if she had touched something foul. She stood back, letting go of Kili's chin once more and regarding him thoughtfully. Kili let his head hang and did not speak again.

“Your brother is afraid for you,” she said finally. “I think he loves you very much.” 

Again, there came no answer, and after a moment, Tauriel knelt again and slipped the gag back into Kili's mouth with gentle hands, retying the knots behind his head and taking care not to catch his hair in them. When she had finished, she stood and unlocked the door.

“Well, little one,” she said. “This was a most interesting meeting.”

And she slipped out, and Bilbo, rather astonished at what he had just witnessed, barely managed to slip out with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, as I like to call it, "much talk; no action".


	17. Chapter 17

Bilbo found himself pacing the passageway back and forth between Kili's cell and the wine cellar, memorising each twist and turn, each side-passage and door until he was sure he could have travelled the route with his eyes closed. He counted how many elves he saw along the way (too many) and how long it would take to get a limping little dwarf from one end to the other (too long). Each time he reached the end, he crept down the steps into the cellar and stared at the faint outline in the floor that marked the trapdoor, and tried to remember how far the drop was and how perilous the river had looked, tried to assess how often the cellar was empty and how often it was occupied. Each time he reached the beginning, he stood on tiptoe and peered through the little grating at Kili's hanging head. And still he had no plan, not one that would work, anyway.

At last, he grew weary of the constant back and forth, and he began to wander further, hoping to see or hear something that might fit the pieces of an idea together in his mind. Passing close to Fili's cell, he heard the young dwarf's voice and stopped, creeping around the corner.

Fili sat on the floor with his back to the wall. Before the bars stood Tauriel, half-turned as if she had been passing by and had stopped for a chat. 

“Tell me of your brother, master dwarf,” she was saying.

Fili was frowning. “Why?” he said.

Tauriel smiled. “We are very merry here in the Greenwood,” she said, “and we tell many tales. But sometimes it is good to hear tales of other places, and other folk.” Fili looked rather suspicious, and Tauriel gave a light laugh. “Do not worry, Master Fili,” she said. “I will not ask who you are and where you come from, nor yet what brought you to our lands. I seek diversion, that is all.”

“And how is it you know my name?” Fili demanded. “I know my companions would not have told you.”

Tauriel hesitated for the briefest of moments. “I heard them call you by it, as we marched through the forest,” she said. “Elves have sharp ears.”

“So I've heard,” Fili muttered, but his lips twitched, and Bilbo knew he had not missed that pause. “What is it you would know of my brother, mistress elf?” 

Tauriel spread her arms wide. “What is his name?” she said. “Is he merry, is he sombre? Is he kind or cruel? Does he love the sunlight or prefer the stars?” She leaned forward a little, stooping towards Fili. “Does he love you as surely as you love him?”

Fili seemed to think for a long moment before he replied. “Kili,” he said. “His name is Kili.”

“Such queer names you dwarves have,” Tauriel said.

“I do not think one named Tauriel should be making such judgements,” Fili said, looking rather offended. Tauriel raised her eyebrows.

“Tauriel is a good name, a strong name,” she said. “It is not strange at all.”

“Among elves,” said Fili. “Just as Kili is not strange among dwarves.”

Tauriel cocked her head on one side, seeming to consider this. “Well,” she said. “And what of the rest?”

“He is merry, definitely,” said Fili after a moment's thought. “The merriest of all dwarves, and we make a merry race, mistress elf, though you might not believe it to look at us now.”

Tauriel raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She was watching Fili rather more intently than might be expected for a light-hearted conversation, and Bilbo found himself gnawing on his lip and wondering what the right responses were, and whether Fili was making them.

“And kind -- yes, he is kind, or means to be, although he is often thoughtless,” Fili said. He was staring into the middle distance, now, a small, fond smile on his face. “He is very young, you see.”

“Very much younger than you?” Tauriel asked, and Fili glanced up at her.

“Well, he is only five years younger, but he was only two and fifty when--” he stopped and shook his head, and Tauriel's eyes narrowed, just a little. But Fili cleared his throat and forged onwards. “The sunlight or the stars, I don't-- I don't know, I suppose. I don't remember if we ever talked about it.” His face grew troubled now. “He was afraid of the dark when he was just a little child.”

“Afraid that the beasts that dwell in darkness would come and take him?” Tauriel asked, and Fili looked at her again, sharply this time.

“If you like,” he said. “All creatures should have the sense to be afraid of such things.”

“And does he love you, master dwarf?” Tauriel asked.

Fili did not answer. 

“I do not think it should be such a difficult question to answer,” Tauriel said after a moment.

“No, it is not that,” Fili said. “But -- he has not been himself of late.”

“And who has he been?” Tauriel asked, half-smiling, but there was no answering mirth in Fili's face.

“He has been hurt,” he said. “Badly hurt, for a long time. He has -- he has not been himself.”

Tauriel's expression was sympathetic, but her gaze was intent and thoughtful. “There are some injuries from which no recovery is possible,” she said.

Fili shook his head. “No,” he said. “He will recover, I know he will. If he can just have some time, and good medicine.”

“And what medicine would that be, master dwarf?” Tauriel asked.

Fili looked up at her, then, as if making sure he had her full attention.

“Kindness,” he said.

\----

Bilbo made no more progress on his plan that day (if _plan_ was really the word for something that was just the knowledge of a trapdoor in a room that was almost never empty), and when he curled up in the corner of a store room, he found he could not sleep for fear. Had the elf king already made his pronouncement? Perhaps even now guards were marching to Kili's cell to take his life. But then -- maybe Thorin was wrong? After all, Tauriel seemed, if not exactly sympathetic, at least not actively hostile. And if she was so, perhaps the other elves were so as well? Perhaps they would just leave Kili to languish, like the other dwarves, until Bilbo could find a way to get them all out together. 

And perhaps not.

When Bilbo finally slept, he dreamed of darkness and the sound of an axe being sharpened, and he woke feeling as though he had a strip of hard leather pressed against his tongue, stilling his cries.

He was waiting in the little alcove when it came time for the elves to feed Kili, but when he heard the footsteps and turned to watch them come, it was all he could do to stifle a squeak of surprise that would surely have given him away. For the two grim-faced elves he had become accustomed to were not there, and in their place came Tauriel, bearing a plate and a jug and wearing a thoughtful expression on her face. Bilbo followed on her heels, creeping along the wall of the cell to his accustomed corner, but he did not plug his ears nor close his eyes, for in truth he was as curious about this elf as she seemed to be about the dwarves.

Tauriel set the plate and jug down and then sank to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Kili.

“Good morning, little one,” she said. “I have brought food for you.”

She reached behind Kili's head and untied his gag, lifting his chin and pulling the leather carefully from his mouth. Kili kept his eyes downcast, and Bilbo held his breath, waiting to see if she would force his mouth open like the other elves. But she merely broke off a piece of the bread and brought it to his lips.

“Eat,” she said.

Kili did not eat. His mouth stayed closed, and although he did not turn his face away, he gave no sign that he knew what he was being asked to do, either.

“Come now, little one,” said Tauriel. “You must eat. I would not have you starve.”

Kili did not so much as twitch, and Bilbo's heart sank. Surely now she would have to force him?

But Tauriel simply sat in silent thought for a moment or two, and then lowered Kili's chin. “Well,” she said, “let us see if your claws are as fearsome as your teeth.” And she reached up and undid the knots that tied Kili's right wrist above his head. 

Bilbo found himself gaping in amazement. Kili's arm dropped to his side as if it were made of wood or iron and not part of his body at all, and Tauriel sat back, one hand on the dagger at her waist. But Kili made no move to attack her -- indeed, Bilbo was not sure he could have if he had wanted to, for his arm hung in such a way that it must have been completely without feeling -- but lifted his head and gave her a startled look. Tauriel nodded at him, and took his hand in her own, pressing the bread into it and curling his fingers around it before lifting his hand to his mouth.

“Eat,” she said.

Kili just stared for a moment, but then he opened his mouth and clumsily thrust the morsel of bread into it, barely avoiding biting his own fingers. Tauriel smiled, and she put the rest of the food within his reach.

“I am glad to see you did not turn to stone overnight, little one,” she said. “I have heard stranger stories about your kind.”

Kili stared at her, then reached down for the food. It was painful to watch, and most likely much more painful to perform, but after some fumbling it seemed feeling was returning to his limb, for he was able to grasp the chunk of bread and lift it to his mouth, though his arm was shaking. He shoved as much of it into his mouth as he could, barely chewing before swallowing it and taking another huge bite, and all the while he kept his eyes fixed on Tauriel. She, for her part, sat still and watched him back, and only when all the food was gone did she speak.

“Teeth like a warg, indeed,” she murmured. “And will you drink?”

She held out the water jug to him, and after some hesitation, during which she merely sat and waited patiently, he took it, spilling some on the way to his mouth, for it was quite full and his arm still shook. He drank greedily, just as he had the first time, all those days ago in the wildlands, and Bilbo was struck painfully with how little distance it seemed they had travelled in all that time.

When the jug was empty, Tauriel took it gently from Kili's hand and set it on the floor. “As you see, I mean you no harm,” she said. “But I do not know the same about you. Tell me, little one, how is it you dare to speak the Black Speech within the borders of the Greenwood? For even orcs would tremble to do such a thing.”

Kili stared, and Bilbo found himself holding his breath, for this elf was unpredictable, but perhaps -- perhaps if Kili could just show her that he truly was not to be feared--

“Orcs,” said Kili, and then, “ _Amat nar golug danojizish?_ ”

Tauriel recoiled, and Bilbo wrung his hands at the look on her face. She stood quickly, and took a step back.

“Then not all the things they say of you are exaggerated,” she said. “You are bold indeed, or remarkably foolish.”

Kili's eyes had dropped the moment she stood, and now he sat hunched over, head bowed. Tauriel stared down at him, and her features softened a little.

“What a strange creature you are,” she said. But she stooped and grasped his wrist, bringing it above his head and tying it there with deft fingers, and soon the gag was back in his mouth, and Tauriel was turning to go, empty jug and plate in her hand. Bilbo found himself scrambling to his feet, mouth opening to beg her to come back, to just listen for a while and she would find the answers she sought, but of course he could not, and he should not even have risen, for she looked sharply in his direction and frowned, and Bilbo froze, even the blood in his veins seeming to still in fear.

But then she turned away and slipped out of the door, and Bilbo was so filled with disappointment and worry that he did not think to go with her until the key turned in the lock and he remembered that there would be no water bearer and indeed no-one at all was likely to visit Kili for many hours. And when he had remembered, it was of course far too late, and he sank to the floor in his little corner and wrung his hands until the blood fled from them, for he could think of nothing else to do.

\----

Bilbo had not sat for long in his despair before the stoutness of his little hobbit heart would let him wallow no longer, and he gave himself a stern talking-to. “Now, Bilbo my lad,” he said to himself in his mind, “worrying about what has happened won't do anyone any good, least of all you. But although you are trapped for the time being, you still have your ring, and no-one is dead (yet), and they still do not know you are here. So you must find a way, just as before.”

Somewhat cheered up -- or at least a little less despondent -- he got to his feet and took off the ring, going over to Kili and patting him on the knee.

“Hello, Kili,” he said. “I'm glad you were able to eat properly, for once.” Well, not exactly _properly_ , as the little dwarf's table manners were still appalling, but it was certainly a great deal better than being forced. 

Kili looked up at him without further prompting, and Bilbo found himself surprised and rather pleased. He pulled the gag over Kili's chin, and found that it was much less tightly tied than it had been before. “Now,” he said, “since I am here, and I am not going anywhere soon, let us get down to business. You are a dwarf.” 

“I'm dwarf,” said Kili, readily enough, and Bilbo beamed at him.

“And Fili is your brother,” he prompted.

“Fili is brother,” Kili said. “Is your brother.”

“No, he is _your_ brother,” Bilbo said.

“Your brother,” Kili said. “Yes.”

“Oh dear,” said Bilbo, for although this unexpected progression to possessive pronouns was a hopeful sign where he had thought to see only dismal ones, he could see that getting to grips with the subject might take Kili some time. On the other hand, time was something he had an excess of at that moment, so he squared his shoulders and plunged on. “Fili is your brother,” he said, poking Kili in the chest. “ _My_ brother,” here he laid a hand on his own chest, “is -- well, I don't have a brother. Oh dear.”

Kili frowned at him. “Fili brother. Not _srinkshalat_.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said. “Now, Kili, you must listen to me. If that elf comes back,” he gestured at the door, “you must only speak to her in hobbit-speak. Do you understand?”

Kili shook his head. “Not understand,” he said. “Hobbit _flasat hiisarz_.” His gaze was starting to drift a little, and Bilbo felt the hope in his chest begin to flicker. He hesitated, then reached out and took Kili's face in both his hands, and Kili grew suddenly very still, his eyes starting to drop to the floor.

“Now, none of that,” Bilbo said. “I am not an elf, and I am not going to hurt you. Not punish.” He tipped Kili's head up a little. “Look at me. Please, Kili.”

Kili looked up. “Hobbit,” he muttered. “Not punish.”

“Exactly,” Bilbo said. “I need you to listen. Are you listening?”

Kili stared at him, and Bilbo took that as a yes. “If the elf comes back,” he said, slowly and clearly, “you must speak only hobbit-speak. Understand?”

“Speak hobbit-speak,” Kili said. “ _Golug?_ ”

“Elf,” said Bilbo. “Goes again. Elf goes again.”

“Go again,” Kili said. “ _Golug_ go again, speak hobbit-speak.”

“Well, I suppose that's the best we're going to do,” Bilbo said, and he let go of Kili's face. The little dwarf's eyes immediately started to drift again, and Bilbo sighed.

“We will get you out of this, my lad,” he said. “I promise we will.”

\----

Bilbo did his best to keep Kili's attention on him after that, asking him question after question, telling him whenever he was speaking Black Speech -- something that Kili seemed to find quite difficult to understand -- and going back every now and then to the issue of _your brother_ and _my brother_ , because although Kili did not seem to be able to grasp it properly, it kept the little ember of hope in Bilbo's chest alive that he was even trying at all. After a while, the little dwarf grew quiet and seemed rather morose, but Bilbo did not let that stop him, for he was quite capable of conversing with rocks and trees if need be, and he chattered for hours, talking of everything he could think of that wasn't dungeons and elves and darkness, until his voice was hoarse and he realised that Kili had fallen asleep.

That was when the reality of being locked in the dungeon first crept into Bilbo's heart, for once he had fallen silent there was no sound at all beyond Kili's slow breathing, and there was hardly any light, either. Bilbo sat beside Kili and stared at the wall, and then at the ceiling, and then at the floor. When he had done all this, there was nothing else to do, and so he stared at the wall again and tried to think of a plan, but the silence seemed to scatter his thoughts, and after an hour or two he could begin to understand how Kili had so quickly lost so much of his progress once he had been locked down here.

Bilbo didn't realise he had fallen asleep himself until the sound of footsteps echoed through his dream, and he woke to find he was curled up against Kili's ribs. Kili was staring at him, and Bilbo stared back.

“ _Golug_ go again,” whispered Kili. “Hobbit make not speak.”

“Make not--?” Bilbo whispered back, and then there was the sound of a key rasping in the door, and Bilbo suddenly realised what the little dwarf meant. “The gag!” he breathed, and fumbled for it, dragging it over Kili's chin rather more roughly than can have been comfortable and shoving it in his mouth. He barely remembered to slip the ring on his finger before the door swung open, Tauriel framed in the doorway.

Bilbo froze, hardly daring to breathe. Had she seen him? He had never been this close to Kili when someone else was in the room -- it was hardly safe, for what if they should trip over him? -- but he could not move now without risking making a sound and being discovered. So he sat, breathing as shallowly as he could, as Tauriel closed the door behind her and came to sit in front of Kili. She had brought food again, but it could not have been a full day yet, Bilbo was sure of it.

“Good evening, little orc-friend,” she said to Kili, and reached to take his gag off, her hand almost brushing against Bilbo's shoulder. “You seemed so hungry earlier, I thought you might like some more food.” She reached up to untie his wrist, and Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief that he was on Kili's left side. “Will you eat?”

She placed the food within Kili's reach, and Kili, after a few moments of clenching and flexing his fingers, ate as before, though a little more slowly this time, and without lifting his eyes from the floor. Tauriel watched him without speaking, and gave him water when he had finished, and Bilbo thought that maybe she was just going to leave him, and they would lose any chance they had to convince her that he was not to be feared, so he elbowed Kili in the ribs and hoped against hope that he would understand the message.

Kili grunted, and Tauriel frowned at him. “Are you well?” she said.

“Not,” said Kili. “I'm, I'm. Not.”

Bilbo closed his eyes, but although Kili spoke only nonsense and still did not look up, it seemed enough to prick Tauriel's curiosity, for she cocked her head to one side. 

“What are you not, little one?” she said.

“Not,” said Kili, and then screwed up his face in concentration. “Not... _orc_ ,” he said. He glanced up, then. “I'm dwarf.”

Bilbo held his breath. Tauriel watched Kili, her brow furrowed. Then she stood, half-turning away.

“Not an orc, no,” she said, “but you know something of them. You speak the Black Speech, though it is not the tongue of your people.” 

Kili stared at the floor. “Not _sr_ \--” he started, and Bilbo elbowed him again. He stuttered to a stop, and closed his eyes. “Not... understand,” he said.

Tauriel looked at him in some surprise, and Bilbo realised she had not before grasped how little Common Kili knew. She turned back towards him, dropping into a crouch.

“Tell me what you know of orcs,” she said, speaking slowly and clearly.

Kili still looked at the floor. “Orcs... punish,” he said, and Bilbo could see him considering each word, as if to ascertain what tongue it proceeded from. “Make... bad.”

“They punish you?” Tauriel asked. “But you are their friend.”

“Not friend,” Kili said. “Dwarfs friend,” and Bilbo closed his eyes and silently cheered for all the times he had pointed at one dwarf or another and said _he is your friend_ , even though he knew Kili still did not really understand what that meant.

“So you are not an orc-friend, but a dwarf-friend,” Tauriel said, with a hint of laughter in her voice. “That is better, though still not the best choice you could have made.”

Kili looked up at her and shook his head. “Not understand,” he said.

Tauriel regarded him with a rather quizzical look on her face. “You understand so little,” she said. “Why have you never learned Westron?”

Kili looked blank, and Tauriel seemed to consider a moment. “You speak like an orc,” she said finally. “Why?”

“Not speak orc-speak,” Kili said. “ _Golug_ not... like. Speak hobbit-speak.”

Bilbo felt his stomach go cold at the Black Speech word, but although a sharp frown crossed Tauriel's face, she did not flinch back as she had earlier in the day, and the shadow of it was gone almost as soon as it had arrived, replaced by a look of some surprise.

“Hobbit-speak?” she said. “I have not heard the word _hobbit_ for many a long year. But they speak Westron, do they not?”

Kili had a rather helpless expression on his face as he tried to follow her speech, and she paused and tried again. “Hobbit-speak,” she said. “What is it?”

“Speak hobbit-speak,” Kili said. “I'm speak, you're speak.”

“We are speaking hobbit-speak now?” Tauriel asked.

Kili nodded. “Now,” he said. “Speak hobbit-speak.”

A slow smile broke out on Tauriel's face then, spreading until she looked utterly charmed. “You did not learn that from the orcs,” she said. 

“Not... learn orcs,” said Kili. “Orcs make _snaga_.”

Tauriel's face clouded, and Kili looked suddenly worried.

“Not know... word,” he said. “Not... want speak orc-speak. Not know word.”

“Do not fret, little one,” said Tauriel, and she picked up his hand where it lay by his side and ran a fingertip across the manacle at his wrist. “I know what a _snaga_ is.”

\----

This time, Bilbo was more quick-thinking when Tauriel left, and managed to slip out with her, almost tripping over her heels in an effort to avoid the closing door. The edge of his jacket got caught in between the door and its frame, and Bilbo dragged it out with trembling fingers as Tauriel frowned and tried again to close it. When it was finally shut and locked, she stood looking at it for a moment. But then she seemed to shrug, and strode off down the corridor, and Bilbo, for want of any better plan, followed behind her as closely as he dared.

She took him to a part of the fortress he did not often enter, for it was relatively crowded with guards and tall elves in fine clothes, and it was hard to keep from getting underfoot. The furniture here was fine, the hangings rich, and Bilbo was not much surprised to turn a corner and find himself face-to-face with the strange, pale-eyed elvenking. He sidled into the shadows by the wall, and thought of all the many interviews between the king and Thorin, wondering how they could even talk to each other when they were of such different heights.

Tauriel stopped smartly when she saw the king, and stood to attention, saying something short in the elf language. The king inclined his head, and she spoke further, less rigid now, looking up into his face. The king listened with his head to one side, pale eyes fixed on her, and Bilbo was glad it was not him pinned by that gaze, for it was altogether wild and troubling. When Tauriel had finished whatever it was she was saying, he shook his head and spoke, and although he sounded kind, or at least not angry, his expression stayed cold and distant.

Tauriel nodded and said something that sounded conciliatory, but then she spoke again, and this time the king's brow furrowed as she continued. He did not let her finish, but said something sharp that cut off the flow of her speech and had her standing sharply to attention again. Then he sighed, and spoke at length, and by the time he was done, Tauriel's head was bowed.

The king asked her a question, then, and she responded in a low voice, and when he asked her something else, she looked up and nodded, grim-faced. The king nodded too, and turned away from her. It must have been some kind of signal of dismissal, for Tauriel turned smartly on her heel and marched out of the room, faster even than usual, so that Bilbo had to run to keep up. She turned down tunnels and passed through doors at great speed, and Bilbo found himself quite out of breath by the time she stopped, back in the deeper tunnels, now, where there were fewer rich tapestries and more smoky torches. She leaned against the wall, tipping her head back, and Bilbo felt a great foreboding come over him, for her face in the torchlight was unutterably sad.

\----

Tauriel went to see Fili after that, and Bilbo followed along behind her. He was starting to feel more like a shadow than a hobbit, for he had talked to no-one but Kili in two days now, and much as he was glad that the elves could not see him, it still felt odd to be looked through. It was especially odd when it was one of his friends who was doing the looking, and Bilbo shivered a little as Fili's eyes passed blankly over him when they came to his cell.

“Mistress Tauriel,” said Fili, smiling as he saw her.

“Master Fili,” said Tauriel, but she had no answering smile, and instead stood uneasily, if an elf can stand in such a way. “I hope you are well?”

“As well as can be expected,” Fili said. “You elves are very busy today. There is so much hurrying back and forth, I wonder if you are not preparing for war.”

Tauriel laughed a little at that, but it was not a light-hearted laugh. “Not war,” she said. “It is the feast of starlight. It is one of our most precious days.”

“Ah,” Fili said. “Then I assume there will be lots of harp-playing and poetry?” He made a face.

“Aye, and merry-making and drinking with it,” Tauriel said, seeming pleased to be talking about something other than whatever it was she had come to tell Fili. 

“Drinking?” Fili asked. “And what is it the woodland elves drink? The light of the moon? The water of crystal fountains?”

“That, and a great deal of strong wine,” Tauriel said. “We have been buying it in for weeks. You and your friends would be hard put to beat an elf of the Greenwood in a drinking competition, I think.”

“Well, that sounds like a challenge,” said Fili, grinning now, and Tauriel smiled back at him, but as quickly as it had come, her smile faded. Fili shifted uneasily, and he came to the bars now.

“Has something happened?” he asked. “I know -- I know you say my brother is not here, but if you have heard anything of him--”

“You would do well to forget your brother, master dwarf,” Tauriel interrupted him, but she did not meet his eye. “He is going where you cannot follow.”

“What?” The colour drained from Fili's face. “No. That cannot be true.”

Tauriel sighed. “I am sorry, little one,” she said. “I wish it were not so.”

“No,” said Fili again. “No, no, you must not, it is not his fault! He cannot help what they did to him!”

Tauriel leaned her head against the bars, then, and her face was full of sorrow. “I know he cannot,” she said. “None of this can be helped.”

“It can,” Fili insisted. “You could help it, if you chose. You could tell the king, you could tell him.”

Tauriel turned away, then. “I am sorry,” she said again, and walked away without a backward glance at Fili's stricken face.

Bilbo stood helpless in the corridor, not sure whether to follow Tauriel or to stay and comfort Fili. But although his soft heart begged him to stay, for Fili was gazing sightlessly at the wall and his face was torn with terror and despair, his mind told him he must go. Time was short, and it was more urgent than ever that he concoct a plan. There was no time for comfort, not now. Perhaps not ever again.

And so he found himself hurrying once again to catch up with Tauriel. From somewhere up above came the noise of revelry, and Bilbo realised the feast must already have started. Tauriel stopped once to listen to it, her head lifted and her mouth twisted in sorrow. It seemed almost all the elves were at the feast, for they passed hardly anyone on the way, until they came close to the source of the noise, and the elf that bore the keys to the cells at his waist came stumbling past.

Tauriel caught him by the arm and frowned at him, asking him a question, and he straightened up sharply, the slight cloud in his eyes clearing as he made his reply. But he stank strongly of wine, and Tauriel looked irritated as she let him go on his way.

And then, Bilbo began finally to think of a plan.

He turned quickly and followed in the key-bearer's footsteps. The elf did not stumble again, the wrath of his mistress apparently having sobered him somewhat. After many hundreds of yards of corridors, he stopped at a little guard room and sat discontentedly on a chair, pouring himself something that certainly wasn't wine from a silver jug. Bilbo sat in the corner and watched him, and as the elf sat and began to seem not at all drunk, the little hope that had flared in his chest began to die out. 

He was wondering whether he should go back up towards the feast and see if he could think of something else when a great rumbling noise came down the tunnel towards them. The elf jumped to his feet, and stepped out into the passage, and when Bilbo followed him, he saw two elves rolling a large barrel towards them. It must have been empty, from the sound it made. The elf-guard stopped them with a light word and knocked twice on the wood, and they all laughed at the hollow sound it made. They exchanged a few more words, and then the two elves went on their way with their barrel, and the key-bearer sat back down to his vigil. But Bilbo -- Bilbo watched the empty barrel go with round eyes, and remembered how the first time he had seen the river door, there had been barrels stacked above it. Barrels that had survived the drop to the rapids below.

The elf guard sighed and muttered something in a dissatisfied tone, but Bilbo was not there to hear it, for he was already half-way to the wine cellar.

\----

The wine cellar was abuzz with activity, elves rolling barrels in and out, and if Bilbo had been less stout of heart, he might have let that fact drive him to despair and inaction. But Bilbo had had far too much of both those things in recent days, and he only took note of who was coming and going and how often, and had eyes only for the empty barrels which rested in a stack of three on the trapdoor. Three! And he only needed two! He took a moment to be grateful that the woodland elves were so fond of their wine, and that the feast of starlight should come at such an opportune moment. So now he had a way out, and all he had to do was get Kili to the wine cellar!

Of course, that made the task sound much simpler than in truth it was, for Kili was still locked tight behind a sturdy door far away from the cellar, and although there were fewer elves around than was usual, and although the ones that were abroad were distracted, none of that was enough to unlock a door without a key. But Bilbo was so pleased by the beginnings of a plan that he was determined that he would find a way out regardless, and it would be that very night, for who knew what axes might fall on the morrow.

Fate often seems unkind to those who are caught in its grasp, and there come in every life great moments of devastation that are not foreseen and cannot be prepared for. Those moments are remembered, and sometimes even sung about, mournful songs of the last days of dying races and fading families. But sometimes, it seems that all it takes for fate to smile is a determination that it _will_ , and this determination hobbits have in more abundance than most suspect. Bilbo, as he sat in the corner of the wine cellar and stared at the empty barrels, felt a growing certainty that his plan, half-formed as it still was, would succeed, and perhaps it was this very certainty that brought the keeper of the keys to the cellar door, laughing and begging for wine.

The elves still in the cellar laughed with him, and they took his cup to a half-empty barrel that stood in the corner, and handed it to him filled to the brim. He toasted them and sat down at the table to drink, and they exchanged jests and laughed and went on their way, rolling a great barrel before them. The key-bearer drank and talked with those elves who came in and out, and although all were tasting of the wine in the barrel, only the key-bearer seemed to have no other tasks, and only he drank cup after cup and laughed more and more heartily. And when a few hours had gone by, and the stack of empty barrels now numbered seven, the key-bearer's head sank onto his crossed arms on the table, and in moments he was sound asleep.

Bilbo's heart leaped, and he waited, gnawing on his fingernails, while the elves who had brought the most recent barrel talked behind their hands and pointed mirthfully at the key-bearer. And then they rolled a new barrel out, and Bilbo found himself alone. Alone! He seized the chance, not knowing when some newcomer might step in, and crept to the key-bearer's side, touching his fingertips to the great iron ring that hung at his waist. It swung a little at his touch, and made the slightest clinking noise, and Bilbo froze, but the key-bearer did not even twitch in his drunken sleep, and a moment later, Bilbo had unhooked the keys and stowed them under his own clothes so that they would vanish as surely as he did. 

And then he ran.

He had walked the route between the wine cellar and Kili's cell so many times now that he did not even need to think about where to go, but concentrated instead on listening for elves and let his feet take him where they would. The tunnels were silent and deserted, and Bilbo kept one hand tucked into his jacket, his fingers wrapped around the great bundle of keys so that they would not clank. The way seemed longer than it ever had before, and by the time he stood before the great wooden door of Kili's cell, he was gasping for breath and feeling very red in the face. But he was _there_ , and he had the keys, and all he had to do now was get Kili into that barrel and they would be saved.

He drew the keys from his pocket and fumbled through them feverishly, and after a moment he slipped off the ring, because although he could see himself when he wore it, his vision was strangely clouded and blurry, and it was difficult enough to fit key after key to a lock even when you could see everything perfectly. He tried first one key, then another, and did not think about how many there were or how long it might take before someone found that the keys were missing. He kept his ears open for voices and footsteps, and he was concentrating so hard on what might be coming up or down the corridor that it did not occur to him that there was another direction from which danger could come. So it was that when, as he was fitting the third key, the great wooden door swung suddenly open and a hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him several feet from the ground, he could only gape in complete astonishment at the face that now peered at him narrowly and swallow hard around the knife that was pressed to his throat.

“Well,” said Tauriel, tilting her head to one side. “And what manner of creature are you?”


	18. Chapter 18

Bilbo's hand went uselessly to the pocket the ring was in, and he tried to disguise the movement as a tremor, for if the elf should discover the ring then all would indeed be lost, if it was not already. He stared at her, wide-eyed, and wondered if he should pretend he didn't understand her. But she appeared not to need an answer to her question, for her eyes were narrowing then widening in realisation.

“You are a hobbit!” she said, and then looked sharply at Kili, who sat bound and gagged against the wall, watching them both with wide eyes. “Or should I say, you are _the_ hobbit?”

Bilbo swallowed again. The steel of the knife felt cold against his throat. “Not me,” he squeaked. “I'm just any old hobbit!”

Tauriel raised an eyebrow, and then slid her knife back into its sheath and, almost with the same movement, slipped Bilbo's own little sword out of its scabbard and tucked it into her belt. She set him down on the floor and closed and locked the door, and Bilbo realised with a sinking heart that his plan never could have succeeded, because the key to Kili's cell was not on the great ring, after all, but in Tauriel's hand.

Tauriel turned to him then with a thoughtful look. She seemed not the least bit concerned that he might attack her, though of course she was correct not to be. “Any old hobbit?” she said. “And what is your name, master any-old-hobbit?”

“I am Mr. Underhill,” Bilbo said smartly, and concentrated very hard on not looking at Kili. “I, er, I seem to be a little lost.”

Tauriel smiled a little at that, but it was not a friendly smile. “You are in the locked cell of a dangerous prisoner, in the deep dungeons of a well-guarded fortress in the heart of a perilous forest surrounded by lands that crawl with orcs and goblins,” she said. “I would say you are more than a little lost, Mr. Underhill.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said, “then if you'll just unlock the door, I shall be on my way and trouble you no more.”

“Unlock the door?” Tauriel asked. “Perhaps I will. But I would have you answer a question, first. And I would advise you to have a care that your answer be true, Mr. Underhill, for there are still many cells standing empty in these dungeons.”

Bilbo swallowed. “What is the question?” he asked.

Tauriel reached over and plucked the great iron ring of keys from where it hung at Bilbo's waist. “How come you to be so far from your homeland, and carrying keys that belong to my guards? That does not seem like the sort of circumstance that any old hobbit would find themselves in.”

Bilbo opened his mouth and closed it again, for he could think of no answer that would be anything more than nonsense, except for the truth itself. And he was mindful, too, of what Tauriel had said about cells, and even though he knew that this encounter would most likely end with him trapped just as the dwarves were -- and who would save Kili's life then, he wondered -- if there was anything he could do to stave that fate off, then do it he would. And so he took a deep breath, and when he spoke he did his best to do so with no quaver in his voice (though he did not entirely succeed).

“I was trying to save an innocent life,” Bilbo said. “The life of a friend.”

Tauriel raised her eyebrows. “And do you think it is your right to judge who is innocent and who is guilty within these walls?” she asked. “Do you think you can choose who lives and who dies?”

Bilbo found himself wringing his hands. Here was this elf who he had watched for days now, who he knew as though they were friends, or at least acquaintances. And yet, of course, she knew him not at all, and now she looked less like a friend and more like something dangerous and wild.

“I-- no, no of course not,” he said, a little franticly “but you are making a mistake!”

Tauriel's eyes narrowed. “I think it is you who has made the mistake, master hobbit” she said. “You would have done better to have stayed in your little green land beyond the Misty Mountains, and left elves and orcs to their own affairs.”

“He is not an orc!” Bilbo said then, and although there was much of desperation in his voice, there was anger there, too, for he had worked so hard, for so many days, to help these confounded dwarves, to drag them all up from the depths of despair, and for no reason other than that there was no-one else who would do it and that his wretched heart would not let him turn his back, and now, _now_ the elves, creatures who he had longed to meet for so many years, were going to destroy it all without so much as a moment's regret. And so he spoke in anger, and Tauriel looked surprised, but not displeased, and Bilbo did not bow his head but looked her straight in the face, for if Kili was to die, he wanted her to know that it was not justice. “You know he is not an orc,” he said. “You have spoken to him.”

Tauriel looked outraged at that, but there was an odd sort of gleam in her eye. “It is forbidden to speak to the orc-friend,” she said. “Do you suggest I would disobey the orders of my king?”

Bilbo could see no answer that would be acceptable to this, and settled instead for changing the subject. “Then your king is willing to pronounce death on him without even talking to him first?” he said. “That doesn't seem very fair.”

“Fair?” Tauriel said, sounding now rather astonished. “I had heard that hobbits were soft and cowardly and concerned only with their bellies, and yet you come here and speak as if the King of the Greenwood were accountable to you!”

“And I had heard that elves were wise and compassionate,” Bilbo snapped. “Perhaps we were both misled.”

Tauriel's brows drew down, then. “You know nothing of wisdom or compassion,” she said. “Do you think there has never been a creature like him before? Even an elf cannot full recover if their time with the orcs has been too long.” Her face softened a little. “His mind is snapped, Mr. Underhill, he is become nothing more than a beast. If we should set him free, you would wake one day to find him gnawing on the bones of your friends, or worse, you would not wake at all. I would not see that happen to you, trespasser though you are.”

“You don't believe that,” Bilbo said. “I know you don't. I know you have spoken to him.”

“I tell you again that it is forbidden,” Tauriel said. “And even if it were not, even the birds of the forest can be taught to make words, given enough time.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I wonder who has taught our little bird to speak?”

“He is not a beast, nor a bird either,” Bilbo insisted. “He is my friend.”

“Your friend!” Tauriel said. “Oh, master hobbit, your compassion does you credit, but you still do not understand. Your friend was murdered by the orcs. There is nothing left of him in the creature you see before you. Surely it is cruel to both of you to continue so?” She shook her head and spoke as if reciting something. “If he truly was your friend, you must see that he suffers dreadfully. You should think of this not as a punishment, but a mercy.”

Bilbo felt anger blaze up in him again, and he remembered Thorin's words, the elf king speaking of death as mercy. Mercy on whom? He imagined Kili lying lifeless for no reason than that the elves thought that he could not possibly have borne what he had borne, and he imagined what that would do to Fili, to Thorin, and to the still-nameless mother who would regain her son and lose him again in the same breath. “I never thought that the mercy of elves would turn out to be the same as the punishment of orcs,” he said sharply, and Tauriel's eyes grew wide. He did not let her speak, however, but plunged onward. “But you're the one who doesn't understand. I didn't know him before the orcs took him. This _creature_ , as you call him, is the only friend I know, and I would have no other in his place.” 

He shut his mouth with a snap and glared at her, daring her to tell him again that he was mistaken, but she only stared, apparently in great surprise. “You did not know him before?” she asked.

Bilbo shook his head. “I met him only a few weeks ago,” he said. “I thought he was an orc, too, at first, but then I took the trouble to get to know him.” 

He thought he had gone a step too far, but Tauriel turned to Kili now, eyeing him with that thoughtful gaze. Kili immediately bowed his head and fixed his eyes on the floor, but Bilbo had the glimmering of an idea, for it seemed that Tauriel, although she was some kind of commander in the guard, did not know nearly as much as he had thought she must.

“Mistress elf,” he said. “Can I show you something?” 

She looked back at him. “What is it?” 

“I will need you to cut Kili's hands down so he can stand,” Bilbo said. When Tauriel looked sceptical, he raised his own hands, palms outwards. “You have my sword, and your own knives,” he said. “We are unarmed, and -- and we are not exactly the warriors of old.”

Tauriel considered this for a long moment, and then nodded. She stepped to Kili's side and loosed his wrists from the iron ring they were tied to, although she left them still tied to each other. Bilbo scrambled over and knelt by Kili's side.

“Kili, my lad,” he said. “Can you stand?” 

He stood himself and tried to haul the little dwarf up, and Kili, once he had understood what was afoot, seemed to do his best to assist, although with his hands tied behind him and his legs no doubt half-numb and weak from lack of use, he was more of a hindrance than a help. Finally, though, Bilbo got him on his feet, and turned him so his back was to Tauriel, who stood with a hand on the hilt of her knife, watching with narrowed eyes. Bilbo grasped Kili by the shoulders and peered into his face.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said, praying that the little dwarf wouldn't make a scene. “You have to trust me, all right?”

Kili stared down at him, and Bilbo nodded firmly. “All right,” he said, and carefully reached around Kili, taking hold of the hem of Bombur's enormous undershirt, which was the only item the elves had left him aside from the worn breeches, and lifting it slowly and carefully under and through his bound arms until Kili's back was bared to Tauriel. He could not see her reaction, for his face was pressed against Kili's chest (and in fact the little dwarf was leaning on him rather heavily, which was causing some distress to his neck), but he heard her intake of breath and her quick footsteps coming closer.

Tauriel was silent, but Kili jerked sharply and Bilbo knew she must have touched the letters carved into his back. He clucked his tongue soothingly and, since both his hands were occupied, did his best to stroke Kili's chest using his head, a task which was surprisingly difficult and at which he proved not entirely successful.

“They are dwarven letters,” Tauriel said, and her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that Bilbo thought might be horror.

“But no dwarf carved them,” Bilbo replied. 

He felt gentle hands on his, then, and he let Tauriel take the shirt from him and lower it back again. He pulled back from Kili, pushing him upright, and he seemed now to be able to stand on his own. Bilbo smiled at him and patted his cheek, then turned to Tauriel. She had moved a few paces back, and now stood watching them both, her face unreadable.

“Do you still think I don't know how deep this damage runs?” he asked.

Tauriel cocked her head on one side. “Perhaps I have misjudged you,” she said. “It seems hobbits are not such simple creatures as I imagined.”

“Certainly not,” Bilbo said, although in truth he still thought of himself as really quite simple, and his neighbours and friends back in Hobbiton as even more so. “I am going to talk to him now, if you don't object.” It was a bold step, he knew, but he was acutely aware that time was running out, for who knew how long it would be before the key-bearer awoke and discovered his keys were missing? 

“Do you think that is wise?” Tauriel asked, but it seemed, to Bilbo's surprise, to be a genuine question.

Bilbo laughed. “I have not done anything wise for many months, mistress elf,” he said. “I see no reason to start now.” And he gently pulled the gag over Kili's chin and took his face in both hands.

“Kili,” he said. “Do you know me?”

“Hobbit,” said Kili hoarsely, and Bilbo nodded. He had an idea, but it was a great gamble, and his stomach tied itself in knots, though he did his best to appear calm. 

“The elves think you would be better off dead,” he said.

Kili looked blank, and Bilbo thought for a moment. “The elves,” he said, “want to kill you.”

As a declaration, it was certainly more blunt than he'd intended, but to his surprise, Kili did not get upset or even flinch. Instead, he hunched his shoulders a little and nodded resignedly.

“Elves kill,” he said. “Kill now?”

Bilbo blinked. This was not how he had envisaged this conversation happening, and he had to force himself not to glance at Tauriel. “But Kili,” he said, “do you want the elves to kill you?” Even as he said it, he remembered what Kili had said all those days ago at Beorn's, and he wondered suddenly if he had made a tremendous mistake, if instead of proving to Tauriel that death would be no mercy, he was only going to prove the opposite.

Kili seemed to think hard about this, as if he could not find the words to say what he wanted, and Bilbo held his breath. Finally, the little dwarf shrugged.

“Not can want, not can not want,” he said.

“What is he saying?” Tauriel asked.

Bilbo tried to unpick the words in his mind. “I think he's saying that it isn't his choice,” he said, and opened his mouth to try once more to persuade Kili to say what he needed him to say, but Kili was already speaking.

“Elves kill hobbit?” he said in a low voice, eyes flicking sideways towards Tauriel.

“I-- no,” Bilbo said. “I don't think so.” He certainly hoped not.

Kili seemed to sag a little. “Good,” he said. “Is good.”

Bilbo suddenly found himself being gently but firmly moved aside, his hands removed from Kili's face, and Tauriel placed herself in front of the little dwarf, stooping a little and lifting his chin with her fingertips.

“Why is it good, little one?” she said. “Why do you not want me to kill the hobbit?”

Bilbo was rather concerned by the casual tone in which she spoke. But surely she would not kill him? She was wild, it was true, and certainly she was frightening at times, but -- but no, surely she would not.

Kili had trained his eyes on the floor, and Bilbo took him by the arm and squeezed. “It's all right,” he murmured. “You should answer her.”

“Hobbit help,” muttered Kili, not looking up. “Is good. Not want kill.”

Tauriel stared at him, and Kili shifted under her eyes, and then looked up just for a second. “Not kill hobbit?” he said.

“No,” Tauriel said. “I will not kill your hobbit.” And she let his chin drop at that and stood back, staring at him with a frown on her face. Bilbo stood by the little dwarf's side and gripped his arm, and there was a long, long silence, long enough that Bilbo's mouth grew dry, and yet he was afraid to swallow, as if moving even a muscle might break the spell and bring about a verdict he could not accept.

And then Tauriel raised her head, as if listening to something. “The feast of starlight,” she said. “I neglect my duty, for I am to officiate at the table of the guards.” She glanced at Bilbo. “I left only to check that all the prisoners were safe in their cells, and I see that they are. There will be no more checking until the keeper of the keys takes his turn at three hours past midnight.”

And with that, she moved to unlock the door, and then, to Bilbo's astonishment, she drew his sword from her belt, and then slid the key to Kili's cell onto the great iron ring and held both out to him.

“I know the keeper will wish for these to be returned to him,” she said. “If you would be so kind, Mr. Underhill.”

Bilbo took the keys and the sword, the metal cool against his fingers. Tauriel nodded at him, threw one sharp glance at Kili, and then slipped through the door and was gone. Kili shifted and looked sideways at Bilbo.

“Not kill now?” he said. “When kill?”

“Kili, my lad,” whispered Bilbo, still staring at the keys in his hand and hardly daring to believe they were real, “I think perhaps they will not kill you at all.”

\----

The corridor was empty when Bilbo cracked the door open and peered through the narrow gap, and he pushed it wider. Although Kili was more or less able to stand on his own, walking was more of a difficult matter, and he stumbled painfully slowly, leaning on Bilbo all the way. There was nothing for it, though, for Bilbo could hardly carry him, and there was no Dwalin or Fili to help him now. They could only make their unsteady way along the route that Bilbo had travelled so often and pray that they would meet no-one. Bilbo kept one hand wrapped around Kili's shoulders, guiding his steps so that he would not have to speak. The other he laid on the hilt of his sword, though what good he would be if they were to meet a party of heavily-armed elves -- or in fact even one unarmed elf -- he could not say. So they struggled grimly and silently on, but as they went Kili began to lean on him less heavily, and seemed to limp less and be more able to keep his feet. And still they met no-one, and still they met no-one, and Bilbo began to dare to hope that his plan would work after all.

And then they came to the steps down to the wine cellar, and Kili all but fell down them before Bilbo even had a chance to check if the cellar was empty. Bilbo tumbled after him, his heart in his throat and his hand clenched around his sword, for they were so close, so close--

\--and the cellar was empty, but for the keeper of the keys, who snored still with his head pillowed on his crossed arms. Bilbo had to stand a moment and simply breathe to calm the hammering of his heart in his chest, and then he grasped Kili by the arm and led him over to the barrels, finding one at the bottom of the stack -- for surely if any were removed for any reason, it would not be this one -- and pulling off the lid.

“In there,” he whispered, and pointed.

Kili stared at him and then at the barrel. He made no move to get into it.

“Kili,” Bilbo said urgently. “You must get inside!”

Kili still looked doubtful, and Bilbo turned to face him fully. “Kili, please,” he said. “I need you to help me.”

Kili stared at him for another long moment, and then he dropped clumsily to his hands and knees and crawled awkwardly into the barrel. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief and knelt down himself.

“You will be safe,” he said. “Just stay in there.” And then he put the lid on and jammed it down as firmly as he could, trying not to think about how far the drop below the trapdoor was. He scratched a mark on the side of the barrel with his sword so he would be able to find it again, and then he scrambled to his feet and went to the lever he had seen the elves use. But when he had his hands already on it he cast his eye over the stack of barrels and saw that it had grown substantially, from seven or so to eleven, or was it, or was it--

It was thirteen. Thirteen barrels.

Bilbo felt his breath catch in his throat, and he wrapped his hand around the great ring of keys and remembered what Tauriel had said to him, that no-one would be passing by the cells for hours, and then only if the keeper of the keys woke from his drunken stupor. He had time, he had time to come back if he did not succeed and get Kili out, for all he had to do now was pull that lever. Did he dare? How could he, just a simple hobbit from the Shire, dare such a thing?

But in truth it had been quite some time since Bilbo Baggins had been just a simple hobbit from the Shire, and there were thirteen barrels. Thirteen.

Bilbo shook his head and hurried back to Kili's barrel.

“Don't worry,” he said, “I'll be back soon. You stay in there.”

And then he hurried up the steps with the keys cutting comforting ridges into the skin of his fingers.

\----

Bilbo's mind was overcome with worries as he trotted through the tunnels, and he could barely think straight enough to find each of the dwarves' cells, let alone think of a sensible plan, so that he found himself freeing them in a rather random order and sometimes having to backtrack or indeed passing close by a cell without remembering it was there. He freed Dori first, and then Oin and Balin, who were fairly close together, and then he found Bofur and Ori and he had to shout at Dori and Ori (in a whisper, of course) for being too loud in their reunion. Indeed, five dwarves trailing along stone tunnels can make quite a racket even when they have no weapons and indeed nothing but their underclothes and boots, and Bilbo found himself giving them many quelling glances and hardly able to breathe around the lump of anxiety that formed in his throat. But he freed Bombur and Bifur and Nori, and then he came to Fili's cell and found the young dwarf pacing, his face pale and drawn. When Bilbo turned the key, he tumbled out of his cell and gripped Bilbo painfully by the upper arms, eyes wide and staring.

“My brother,” he whispered.

“He's fine,” Bilbo said, patting him on the arm. “Come now, quickly.”

Fili sagged against him, but he regained himself quickly enough, and when they came then to Thorin's cell, Thorin did not even asked the question, but only looked at Fili and apparently found his answer there. And then there were only Gloin and Dwalin, and Bilbo counted them once, twice, to make sure, and turned to lead them back to the cellar.

And that was when they heard voices coming down the corridor towards them.

“Back!” hissed Bilbo. “Get back!” And he pushed them all into a nearby store cupboard, but twelve dwarves is a great many even for an elvish cupboard, and they could not properly close the door, so that there was no question that they would be seen if anybody came past. What's more, there was not even the slightest bit of room for Bilbo to fit in there with them, and he found himself plastering himself across the half-closed door, as if he could somehow hide their bodies with his own. Perhaps that was why he did not put on the ring, or perhaps he was so overcome with all the upset and anxiety that he did not even remember he had it. In any case, he did not put it on, and so it was that when the first elf came round the corner, she saw him immediately, and her eyes widened. Bilbo's eyes widened too, for it was Tauriel, of course. She shook her head at him, and he shook his head back, for it was all he could think of to do, and then she span on her heel and said something light in her own tongue and grasped the shoulders of the elf she was with as he, too, rounded the corner. She stood directly between him and Bilbo, so that Bilbo could see nothing of him but pale hair, the same colour as the elf king, though he was not as tall and wore no crown. Tauriel spoke to him in a teasing tone, and clapped a hand to his back, and Bilbo swore he did not breathe at all until the other elf turned away, laughing at something Tauriel had said, and the two of them walked back down the corridor without so much as a backward glance.

“That was close,” Bofur said in his ear. “I was sure she saw you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo shook his head, feeling rather nauseous. “Come on,” he hissed.

\----

The other dwarves were hardly any more cautious than Kili had been, clattering down the steps into the wine cellar managing to sound like they were wearing chain-mail and carrying pickaxes, rather than dressed in their underclothes without a metal object to their names. Bilbo gritted his teeth and flinched with each clatter, but they did not awake the keeper of the keys and the cellar was otherwise deserted. He hurried them over to the stack of barrels and quickly explained what they were to do, and there was a great deal of grumbling, but even dwarves are not so foolish as not to realise when they are being given a gift of great value, even if it comes in poor packaging, and so they each found themselves a barrel and crawled (or wedged themselves, in Bombur's case) inside. Bofur found some straw from somewhere and distributed it among them, and they used it to pack themselves in. 

“We'll be bounced to pieces otherwise,” Bofur explained, and Bilbo worried about the fact that Kili had no straw in his barrel, and was about to take him some, when his sharp hobbit ears heard the sound of a barrel rumbling down the tunnel, still quiet but getting louder all the time. 

“In, get in!” he hissed, and ran about like a chicken with its head cut off, shoving lids onto barrels and ignoring dwarvish curses until each barrel had a lid and each lid seemed to fit. And by now the rumble of the new barrel rolling towards them was loud indeed, and so Bilbo took a breath and slipped on the ring, and then grabbed the lever and pulled as hard as he could.

The floor opened up and the barrels began to roll with a great rumble. Bilbo watched, heart in mouth, as the first one fell down, down, down, and hit the water, sinking beneath it and out of sight for a moment so long that Bilbo felt sure his little heart would stop from the terror of it all. But then the barrel bobbed up again, and the next one fell, and Bilbo was so very pleased with himself and his brilliant plan that he almost didn't realise that he had not put himself in a barrel, and it was not until the last of them was rolling away and he could hear voices right at the top of the steps that he realised that in a moment he would find himself trapped.

Bilbo let go of the lever and flung himself at the last barrel, and he managed to catch it just before it dropped out of the doorway. He found himself suspended in the air for a moment, and he clung to the edges of the barrel and closed his eyes.

Then the barrel hit the water with a great _smack!_ and Bilbo, fortunately for him, was on top of it rather than below, though in a moment he was submerged and his breath almost ran out before the barrel bobbed back up to the surface with him attached. He glanced up to the trapdoor he knew stood now closed above him, but it was dark as pitch, and he could see nothing at all.

\----

It was a long, cold, frightening night for Bilbo. Even after the river brought them out from under the elven fortress, the night was still very dark, with no moon, although there were no clouds either. The abundance of stars that the elves were celebrating shed a little light, enough for Bilbo to see the silhouettes of trees all around him, but not enough to see if there were rocks in the river, or rapids, or a waterfall. And all the while he had to try and keep a grip on the slippery wood of the barrel, as it rolled and bobbed and otherwise behaved like the most recalcitrant of ponies.

By the time dawn came, Bilbo was exhausted and numb from the cold of the river, but there had been no rocks and no rapids that he had been aware of, and as soon as it was light he counted all the barrels he could see and found there were thirteen. The trees were thinning, now, too, and there were grassy slopes that shelved down to the river here and there, interrupted by stands of trees that looked altogether much friendlier than the twisted, cobweb-hung giants of Mirkwood. They were out of the elf king's realm, and Bilbo felt a great weight lift from his heart when he looked up and saw the sky arch above him, grey still, but slowly turning blue as the sun rose. He felt as though he had been trapped underground for years rather than days, and he swore that if he should ever see Erebor, he would not spend more than a day at a time in those tunnels and caves, be they never so filled with gold.

An hour or so after dawn, the river rounded a great bend, and the barrels came to rest quite naturally and as if of their own accord on the flat crescent of pebbles that formed the inner edge of it. Bilbo struggled to his feet and had to stand a moment to become reaccustomed to the sensation of dry land under his toes, wringing the water out of his jacket and muttering hobbit curses (which are really not much in the way of curses at all). Then he staggered to the nearest barrel and, after some struggling, managed to remove the lid. 

The dwarf inside was Gloin, and he looked a sorry sight indeed, bedraggled and somewhat green, with handfuls of wet straw stuck in his beard and hair. He growled and grumbled at Bilbo, but Bilbo helped him climb out and kept a steadying hand on his back while he found his feet, and then did not even need to tell him to help all the other dwarves, for he had turned immediately to the next barrel and started to open it. Bilbo himself turned and made his way along the line of barrels, looking for the one that he had marked, for he knew that if a dwarf as solid and sturdy as Gloin should be so upset by the barrel ride, then Kili would be in a fine mess, and no mistake.

Kili's barrel was the furthest along the beach, and Bilbo wrestled the lid off and peered inside. All he could see was a sodden bundle of clothes and hair curled up miserably on the bottom of the barrel, and he wished he could have explained to Kili what was going to happen, because he surely must have thought he was going to be drowned. He reached in and found Kili's shoulder, grasping it and pulling gently.

“Come on, then,” he said. “You're all right. You're free, and no-one's going to hurt you now.”

Kili did not respond, but his shoulder was shaking under Bilbo's hand. Bilbo tried to lift him out, with both hands now, but he was a dead weight, and, skinny though he was, Bilbo was not strong enough to get him out. The best way, he saw, would be to tip the barrel on its side and crawl in after him, but he was afraid that if he tried to do such a thing on his own, the barrel would fall and Kili might take further fright.

A hand clapped him on the back, and he turned to see Bofur, looking rather pale and shaky but grinning broadly at him.

“Well, Bilbo my lad, you've done it again,” he said. “We'll have to make Gandalf a new staff out of gold for bringing you with us on this trip.”

Bilbo smiled back, and then gestured at Kili's barrel. “Can you help me?” he asked. “I need to tip it over.”

Bofur glanced into the barrel and his lips quirked, but when he looked back at Bilbo he was smiling again. “Only too happy to help,” he said, and he took hold of the rim.

Between the two of them, they managed to lower the barrel to its side, and then Bofur took a few paces away and stood ready to help if needed. Bilbo smiled gratefully at him and then crawled inside the barrel. It smelt of wet wood and wet dwarf, and Bilbo, though he was soaked to the skin and freezing, was suddenly very glad that he had spent his own night riding under the stars. He took Kili by the shoulders again and brought his face down close to the tangle of hair that had to represent Kili's head.

“You're all right, my lad,” he said in a low voice. “You're safe now.”

Somehow, he managed to pull Kili from the barrel, and untangle his limbs from Bombur's enormous shirt enough that he could get him half sitting up, with Kili's head resting on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo brushed back his hair, and Kili shook and shivered and narrowed his eyes against the light.

“Look, Master Kili,” Bilbo said. “It's the sky!”

Kili stared at him, and Bilbo smiled and held him upright, tipping Kili's head upwards. Kili's eyes grew wide, then, and if anything he shivered more, but his fingers curled tight in Bilbo's sleeves, and he tried to get to his feet, as if trying to be closer to the great blue infinity that none of them had seen for so long. Bilbo stood with him, keeping his hands tight on Kili's upper arms, for it was clear that Kili could not stand on his own.

“You're free,” Bilbo said. “You see? We didn't go without you.”

And then there was a shout from further down the beach, and Bilbo turned to see Fili almost running towards them, stumbling as he went and pale-faced, apparently only moments out of his own barrel. Bilbo smiled at him, but he had eyes only for his brother, and when he reached them he did not hesitate, but pulled Kili away from Bilbo and into his own arms, pressing his brother to his chest and folding his arms tightly around him, burying his face in Kili's neck. Kili jerked a little, but then seemed content merely to be keeping his feet, leaning heavily on Fili, although he did not move to return the fierce embrace. Fili's shoulders were shaking, and Bilbo found himself covering his own mouth with his hand, all the emotions of the past days welling up inside him.

Fili and Kili stood like that for a long moment, and Bofur came to stand by Bilbo and clap him companionably on the back, and it seemed like his eyes were rather wet as well. Then Fili pulled back a little, just enough so that he could grasp his brother's face in both hands and lean their foreheads together. He closed his eyes, but tears leaked from them anyway, dripping into his moustache and beard.

Kili stared at his brother and raised a hand to his face, touching one of the tears as it slid down his cheek. Fili grabbed his brother's hand in his own and pressed it to his cheek and wept as if he wished to rival the river itself, though he made not the slightest sound.

Bilbo became aware that someone was standing on his other side, and he glanced up to see Thorin, who stood, thoroughly bedraggled and yet somehow having lost none of his dignity, watching his two nephews with an odd twist in his mouth. He turned when he sensed Bilbo looking at him, and gave Bilbo a nod, grasping his shoulder with one hand and squeezing warmly.

“Well done, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised myself that if I got them out of Mirkwood, _somebody_ was going to give Kili a hug. So there we go! I had so much fun writing it, I decree that the next five chapters will be nothing but hugs and kittens and curling up on the sofa watching It's a Wonderful Life. Hope you guys are OK with that.
> 
> In other news, this is now officially the longest thing I have ever written! I feel like I should slap a giant "End of Part Two" on here, but since the part structure has only just become clear to me and I never told you guys about the end of part one, I guess that would be kind of confusing. But I like to live dangerously, so, you know. End of Part Two.


	19. Part Three: Infixed Augmentative

They made camp among the trees some distance from the river, for if the elves were to chase them they would surely come by that route. Bilbo was glad of the move not just for that reason, for Kili had not stopped shaking since he came out of the barrel, and he continually cast wary glances towards the water, as if he was afraid it would rise up and drown him. What was more, it seemed he could not really walk on his own, though whether it was because of his long days in the elvish dungeon or the barrel ride and the fear that had apparently not yet dissipated, Bilbo could not say. At any rate, once Fili and Bilbo had supported him to the new camp and settled him in with his back to a tree and his front to the slowly growing pile of wood that would become their campfire, Bilbo carefully rolled up each leg of his breeches, but found nothing obviously wrong beyond the misshapen knee.

Fili sank down with a minimum of grace on Kili's right side, yawning hugely. “He just needs sleep,” he said. “We all do. I can't remember the last time I slept well.”

Bilbo thought of the many cold floors he had slept fitfully on in the last few days, and before that the stifling air of Mirkwood that filled his sleep with dreams of shadowy figures and whispering voices, and couldn't help but agree. Although they were still out in the wild, with no roof over their heads and not far enough from the borders of Mirkwood to let their guards down, he felt safer than he had since they had been at Beorn's, and tireder perhaps than he ever had in his life.

“A few hours only,” Thorin said, surveying the camp of exhausted dwarves. “We cannot afford to be caught out here.”

Bilbo barely heard him, for his eyes were already closed.

\----

When he woke, the sun was still high in the sky, and the fire was warm on his face. His clothes were mostly dry, at least on the side facing the fire, but he was still tired, so tired. Half-asleep still, he wondered what had woken him. Dwalin stood on the other side of the camp with his back to Bilbo, keeping silent watch. Otherwise, there was nothing unusual to be seen and nothing at all to be heard, besides the calls of forest birds and the distant sound of the river.

That must have been it, then. It was too quiet. Normally a camp of sleeping dwarves seemed to be able to make more noise than a whole tavern full of wide-awake hobbits, but it seemed that their adventures in Mirkwood had exhausted the company so that they did not even have the energy to snore. Bilbo sighed and turned over to allow the fire to dry his back, letting his eyes drift shut again. As he did, though, a flicker of movement caught his eye, and he reluctantly opened his eyes again to make sure it was not a pack of orcs, or elves, or a pack of anything, for that matter, for he could think of nothing friendly that came in packs.

When he saw what it was, though, his eyes opened wider, and he knew with a sinking heart that he would not be sleeping again any time soon. For the sharp movement he had glimpsed was Kili, shaking violently as though he was having some kind of fit.

Bilbo sat up and scrambled to Kili's side, gripping his arm with one hand and feeling it twitch beneath his fingers. “Kili,” he said in a low voice. “Kili, are you all right?” The little dwarf had still been shaking when they had bedded down, but not so intensely. There was no chance, either, that it could be from cold, for Kili's skin and clothes were warm from the fire.

Kili's head was bowed, and Bilbo ducked his own head to see into the little dwarf's face, only to see that his eyes were open but drifting, just as they had in the elvish dungeon. He swallowed and gripped Kili's face in both his hands, lifting it so that he could look him full in the face. “Kili,” he murmured. “Kili, it's all right. You are safe now. You are safe.”

“Is the lad all right?” came Dwalin's voice from behind him, and Bilbo glanced back to see him standing with his fingers flexing by his sides.

“I'm not sure,” Bilbo said.

“Should I wake Thorin?” Dwalin asked, and Bilbo shook his head, staring into Kili's drifting eyes.

“No,” he said. “No, just -- could you give me some time?” 

Dwalin grunted, but Bilbo felt him move away, and although he felt a little guilty for it, he was very glad that he would not have to deal with Thorin as well right at this moment.

“Kili,” he said. “What is the matter? What has happened?”

But when he thought hard about it, it seemed obvious what had happened. Kili had been all those days in utter silence, and then spent a night in a leaking barrel when he was so afraid of water. And he had still been shaking, still unable to walk when they had all fallen asleep and allowed silence to fall across the camp.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, and squeezed Kili's face gently between his hands. Kili was still shuddering, his eyes still drifting, and Bilbo wondered for a bleak moment if any of this would ever end, if he was just deluding himself to think he could help this wretched soul. But then he thought of Fili, weeping into his brother's neck by the river, and he took a deep breath.

“Kili,” he said firmly. “Look at me. Look.” 

Kili's eyes drifted across his face, and seemed to pause. “That's right,” said Bilbo, and then dropped one hand to Kili's shoulder, giving him a little shake when his eyes began to drift off again. “None of that!” he said. “You know me. I am your hobbit.” He felt rather odd calling himself so, but Kili seemed to frown a little and then focus on him, and Bilbo decided that some slight oddness was a small price to pay. “Good,” he said. “Do you know me?”

Kili stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded, once. His hand came up, and his fingers curled in Bilbo's sleeve, twisting tight into the fabric. 

“Of course you do,” Bilbo said. “Now look. You are not in that dungeon any more. Look at the sky.” He tipped Kili's head up and waited until his eyes focussed again before shaking him a little. “Not in the dungeon. Do you understand?”

Kili looked back down at him and nodded again, and although he still shook, his eyes were clearer now, and it was obvious he was looking at Bilbo and not anything else. Still he did not speak, and when Bilbo thought about it, he realised that Kili had not said a word since he came out of the barrel.

“Why do you not speak?” Bilbo asked. “Did the river steal your tongue?” 

It was intended in jest, but the moment he said it, Bilbo remembered what Kili had said about the orcs cutting out their prisoners' tongues, and felt slightly sick. But of course, there had been no orcs, and Kili had been quite able to talk when he got into the barrel, so his silence must only be that he did not choose to speak. All the same, Bilbo could not stop himself from gently prying open Kili's mouth to peer inside.

“Still there,” he said, more relieved than he would care to admit, given that there was no reason to suspect anything had happened to Kili's tongue beyond his own foolish imaginings. “Well, then, what is the trouble? Why don't you speak?”

Kili did not reply, and Bilbo frowned. “ _Amat nar--_ ” he started, but he did not even have time to realise he did not know the word for _speak_ in the orcish tongue, for Kili's eyes widened and he clapped his hand over Bilbo's mouth and shook his head violently.

Bilbo made a muffled squeak and reached up to peel Kili's hand away from his face. Kili was watching him with a worried frown, eyes huge, and he was shaking harder now, Bilbo saw. Bilbo rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was tired, but he would not sleep now, and he wanted more than anything to find a way to convince Kili that he was safe.

“Now listen,” he said. “No-one is going to hurt you if you speak orc-speech here. No punishment.”

Kili looked unconvinced, and Bilbo squeezed his hand, which he still held in his own. “The elves are gone,” he said. “Dwarves don't like orc-speech, but I think they would dislike it more if you didn't speak at all.” In truth, he was not entirely convinced of that, but he didn't think Kili really understood him anyway. “You don't have to do what other people want you to,” he said. “You are free. Do you understand?”

Kili thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. Bilbo sighed. 

“Well, then I suppose we should get back to your lessons, so that you don't need to use the Black Speech,” he said. He had not really intended to do anything of the sort, not until they were a little safer, but he thought that maybe having something else to think about than the dungeons and the river would help Kili, and he wanted to know just how much the little dwarf had forgotten while he had been stuck in that wretched cell. Kili just stared at him, though, shaking and clutching at Bilbo's sleeve, and Bilbo made sure he had the little dwarf's full attention, then spoke slowly and clearly, careful to separate the words.

“Do you want to learn more hobbit-speech?” he said.

Kili nodded rapidly, but did not reply. 

“Yes?” said Bilbo encouragingly, but Kili only nodded again. Bilbo swallowed down his frustration and cast around for something to start with. He found a stone, smooth and white and about the size of a man's fist, and held it up. “Do you remember what this is called?” he asked.

Kili stared at the stone for a long time, and Bilbo felt rather impatient, but did his best not to show it. Finally, the little dwarf shook his head and looked away. Bilbo took him by the chin and brought his head back round.

“None of that,” he said. “It's not your fault you've forgotten. It's a stone. _Stone_.”

Kili nodded, but did not speak. Bilbo raised his eyebrows.

“You must say it,” he said. “Stone. Come on, do you want me to teach you or not?”

Kili twitched a little, his eyes darting around as if he was afraid someone might jump out at him for speaking at all, but finally he spoke, in a voice so quiet Bilbo had to lean forward to hear it. “Stone.”

“Yes. Yes! Good.” Bilbo nodded so vigorously he gave himself something of a headache. “Now.” He thought a little about where to go next, and then scrabbled around until he found another stone, alike to the first in all aspects but for being about half the size. “Big,” he said, holding up the first stone. “Small.” He held up the second, which was made a little more complicated by the fact that Kili's fingers were still tightly curled in his sleeve.

Kili looked from one stone to the other and nodded, and Bilbo finally lost some of his patience and prodded the little dwarf's shoulder with the smaller stone. 

“Speak!” he said. “You won't learn anything if you don't speak.”

Kili hesitated, then pointed at the first stone. “Big,” he said softly. He looked at the second one and frowned, opening his mouth, then closing it. Finally, he shook his head. “Not big.”

“Small,” said Bilbo, and Kili nodded.

“Mall,” he said.

“ _Small_ ,” Bilbo said. “With an _s_. _Small_.”

“Small,” said Kili carefully, and then got the look on his face that meant he was trying to winch a more complex phrase out of the fragments of Common that were strewn across his mind. Bilbo waited, and found that somehow all his impatience had simply evaporated, replaced with nothing but interest in what it was that Kili was going to try and say. Kili, too, seemed to have relaxed a little, for his shaking had subsided to a fine tremor, and his eyes did not dart but focussed intently on the larger of the two stones.

“Stone big,” he said finally, and then pointed at the smaller stone. “Stone small. Yes?”

“Well, I--” Bilbo frowned. “Do you mean _the stone is big_ or _big stone_?”

Kili cocked his head on one side and frowned so hard Bilbo began to worry he might hurt himself. “Stone big is not small?” he decided finally.

“Ah!” Bilbo said. “Well, yes, that is very good indeed, but you've got them the wrong way round, you see. Big stone is not small.”

“Big stone,” said Kili, sounding rather unconvinced.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “You see, the describing word comes first.” He was sure Kili had known that before they had been kidnapped by elves, but then, he had known the word _stone_ , as well, and had used many more connecting words than he seemed to be capable of doing now. 

“Big stone,” Kili muttered. “Big stone, small stone.” He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Forgot.”

Bilbo smiled. “Forgot indeed, but we will soon have you remembering again. But now, here's something new.” He collected a number of stones and put them in one pile, and then made a second, smaller pile. He pointed first at one, then the other. “More stones,” he said. “Less stones.”

Kili stared at the two piles, then looked up at Bilbo. “Bigs stones,” he said, pointing at the first pile. “Smalls stones.”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo said, for indeed he had managed to place only larger stones in one pile and only smaller ones in the other. Quickly, he shuffled them until they were more evenly distributed. “More,” he said, “less.”

Kili thought about this for a minute, then held up five fingers. “More?” he said.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “I don't--” he said, and then glanced down to see that there were indeed five stones in the larger pile. “Well, that's not what I meant,” he said, and then raised his own hand. “Five,” he said, and counted on his fingers. “One, two, three, four, five. Do you remember five?”

Kili shook his head slowly. “One, three,” he said. “Not forgot. Forgot five.”

“Well, five,” Bilbo said. “But look.” He made a third pile, of eight stones this time. “Less,” he said, pointing to the smallest pile, “more,” to the middle pile, “even more,” to the largest pile. “Do you understand?”

Kili paused, looking from one pile of stones to the other. “Yes,” he said finally. “Understand.” He looked up, and then pointed at Dwalin. “More dwarf,” he said, and then pointed at himself. “Less dwarf.”

“That's, er--” Bilbo considered arguing, but decided against it, for Kili seemed to have the general idea, and his goal was almost in sight. “Very good,” he said. “Now. Listen.” He patted Kili's knee until the little dwarf turned his full attention to him, and then thought carefully about how to proceed. “The dwarves,” he gestured around the camp, “like hobbit-speech _more_ than orc-speech.”

Kili stared at Bilbo. “Like hobbit-speak,” he said. “Orc-speak?”

“They like hobbit-speech more than orc-speech,” Bilbo said again, very slowly.

“Like hobbit-speak,” Kili said. “Not like orc-speak. Like -- like hobbit-speak more orc-speak?”

“Yes!” Bilbo said. “Oh, my lad, you are quite the scholar.”

“Yes, more,” Kili said thoughtfully. He stared at the piles of stones, and Bilbo didn't interrupt him, for he had that look on his face again. Finally, he looked up. “ _Khozd shrakhun_ speak hobbit-speak not more good more before,” he said, and then looked quite dissatisfied and shook his head and made a noise that sounded like it started as a Black Speech word and ended up as a choked grunt as Kili clamped his lips shut around it.

“Quite the scholar indeed,” murmured Fili from where he lay, eyes closed, on Kili's right side. Kili frowned down at him, and Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“Don't listen to him,” Bilbo said. “You have forgotten some things, but you will remember them, don't worry.” He patted the little dwarf's knee. “Don't worry.”

\----

Somewhere in between _white_ and _green_ , Kili fell asleep. Bilbo, who had just found a leaf that was still mostly the right colour, turned back to find the little dwarf's chin on his chest and his eyes closed, and he was reminded of their second night out in the wildlands. Smiling, he tried to disentangle Kili's fingers from his sleeve so that he could lie down himself, but the little dwarf's grip was like iron, even in his sleep, and eventually Bilbo had to settle for leaning rather awkwardly on his shoulder. It was not entirely comfortable, but Bilbo had not even finished thinking that thought before he was asleep once more.

He was awoken by low voices somewhere very near by, and he opened his eyes to see that the shadows were grown long and that Thorin, Dwalin and Balin sat a few paces away, deep in discussion. The other dwarves were still sleeping, though Fili had disappeared somewhere, and when Bilbo sat stiffly up he saw that Kili, too, was awake.

“How many days?” Thorin was asking, frowning down at the map that he had somehow managed to keep hold of even through all the trials of Mirkwood, and that was now spread out on the ground between them.

“We still have time,” Balin said. “Weeks to spare, I would say.” He shook his head. “What we do not have is weapons.”

“I am well aware of that,” Thorin said. “I am not intending for us to take on Smaug in our underclothes.”

Dwalin snorted at that. “Though the sight of this lot in their smalls would probably scare him to death,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the sleeping camp.

“Well,” Balin said, “Lake-Town is only a league or so from here, and easy to find. We need only follow the river.” He did not even look at the map as he spoke, and Bilbo wondered if he had memorised it, until he remembered that they were close to the Lonely Mountain, now, and Balin must have known these lands well in his younger days. A thrill of excitement lit in his belly, to be so close to the end of their journey.

“We cannot go to Lake-Town,” said Thorin.

Balin and Dwalin glanced at each other. “The men there will not remember the great days of Erebor, certainly,” Balin said cautiously, “for they live but brief lives. But there will be tales told by their grandparents, passed down, and they will know of how Dale was strong and prosperous in those days, too. They will welcome the King Under the Mountain, I am sure of it.”

“You are forgetting one thing,” Thorin said, and when Balin and Dwalin both raised their eyebrows at him, he sighed heavily. “Kili,” he said.

All three dwarves turned to frown at Kili then, and Bilbo squirmed a little under their attention, even though it was not directed at him. Kili's head was bowed, but his fingers tightened their grip on Bilbo's sleeve, and Bilbo patted him on the arm.

“The men of Lake-Town have no more reason to love orcs than do the elves,” Thorin said. “And they are far rasher and swifter to act.”

“You think they will want to kill the lad,” Dwalin said.

“At best, they will mistrust us for having him in our company,” Thorin said. “At worst--” He shook his head.

“Perhaps if he does not speak the foul tongue around them?” Balin asked. “We could say he is mute.”

“That might work for a day, at best,” Thorin said. “He is not -- dwarvish enough to fool them for longer.”

They fell silent, then, and after a moment, Thorin rose. Balin stood up, too. 

“We need supplies,” he said. “We cannot go anywhere without them.” 

“I will not risk taking him into a town full of men when we are unarmed and outnumbered,” Thorin said. “Do not ask me to, not after what has just happened.”

“Well, what shall we do?” Balin asked, and Thorin shook his head.

“I do not know yet,” he muttered. He stumped over to stand before Kili, staring down at him rather grimly. Kili, for his part, sat still and silent with his head bowed.

“Thorin, we do not know how long it will be before those elves come to find us,” Dwalin said, although his tone was apologetic, or as apologetic as Dwalin was ever likely to get.

“Do you think I do not know that?” Thorin snapped. “Leave me in peace. I need to think.” 

Balin and Dwalin exchanged glances and then turned their backs as one, picking their way to the other end of the camp. Thorin stayed where he was, staring down at his nephew. Finally, he reached to put a hand on his head, but Kili flinched away, and Thorin jerked his hand back, clenching it into a loose fist. He stood like that for a moment, and then turned away, stalking into the trees in the direction of the river. Bilbo watched him go and then turned to see Kili staring at him.

“Angry,” Kili said, flicking his eyes in the direction Thorin had gone.

“He is not angry with you,” Bilbo said. “Although he's not very good at showing it.”

“Why?” Kili asked.

Bilbo debated what his answer should be. On the one hand, telling Kili that there were yet more folk out there who would probably like to kill him for no reason that he could help was certain not to contribute much to his overall wellbeing. On the other, it seemed wrong to keep it from him, to use the language barrier that they were all struggling so hard against as a tool to keep him in the dark, as though he were a child. Finally, he shuffled round so he was facing Kili and chose his words carefully.

“We need food and clothes,” he said, tugging at Kili's sleeve at the latter word. “Weapons -- knives.” He nodded, and Kili nodded back.

“Yes,” he said. “Knife, yes.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo. “There is a town near here--” Kili looked blank, and he thought again, “a, a place where men live. Do you know _men_?”

“Men,” said Kili, and then shook his head. 

Bilbo nodded. “Big folk,” he said, miming height. “More than Dwalin.” He pointed at the towering dwarf. Kili nodded.

“Elves,” he said.

“No,” Bilbo said. “Men.” He mimed a beard, and Kili cocked his head on one side.

“ _Ogh?_ ” he said, and then shut his mouth so hard his teeth clacked together.

“ _Ogh_ ,” said Bilbo firmly and unnecessarily loudly, then raised his eyebrows at Kili. “You see? No-one will punish you for speaking orc-speech.”

Kili did not look convinced, but Bilbo decided that was a battle for another time. “So,” he said. “A town of men. They have food and clothes and knives. Balin wants to go there, but Thorin does not.”

“Why not go?” Kili asked with a frown, and Bilbo hesitated a moment, but he had already come this far.

“Thorin thinks the men will want to kill you,” he said. 

Kili's face took on that resigned look that Bilbo had seen in the elvish dungeon. “Men kill,” he said.

“Well, they will not,” Bilbo said firmly, and shook Kili's arm a little to emphasise his point. “We will not go there, because we don't want them to kill you.” He prodded Kili's shoulder. “Do you understand? No-one will kill you.”

“Why not kill men?” Kili asked then. “Dwarfs strong, kill men. Have food, have knife.”

Bilbo gaped a little. The most obvious answer -- the one he knew Kili would accept without confusion -- was of course that they were unarmed and outnumbered, and that the men were substantially larger than them. But this was not the answer that Bilbo wanted Kili to understand, and so it was not the answer he gave.

“Because they haven't done anything wrong,” he said. 

“Not understand,” Kili said.

“No, of course not,” Bilbo muttered. “Now listen to me. We do not kill people just because we want things they have. We do not kill people at all, unless there is no other choice.” He grasped Kili by the upper arms and looked him in the eyes. “Do you understand? No killing. Killing is bad.”

Kili frowned at him. “Not kill,” he said, and seemed to think about it for a moment. “Men friend?”

“Well, no, I'm not sure I would go that far,” Bilbo said.

“Not kill friend,” Kili said. “Not kill men, men friend?”

“We don't kill anyone,” Bilbo said. “Not our friends, not our enemies, not if we can avoid it.”

Kili looked rather dissatisfied at this answer, but he lapsed into silence, and Bilbo sighed and found himself rather grateful that no-one else seemed to have overheard that particular conversation. He was just thinking about getting up to see where Fili had gone when Kili shook him gently by the sleeve.

“Hobbit,” he said, “men kill _snaga_?”

“You're not a _snaga_ , and no-one's going to kill you,” Bilbo said absently, still looking around for Fili, but there was a second tug at his sleeve.

“No,” Kili said. “Hobbit not understand. Hobbit not, not _daggog_.”

That was enough to get Bilbo's attention, and he turned and frowned. Kili looked rather hunted, and he tugged at his ear. “ _Daggog_ ,” he whispered, glancing towards the river. “Not _daggog_.”

“I'm not listening,” Bilbo said after a moment's consideration. “Listen.” He tugged at his own ear.

Kili nodded. “Listen,” he said. 

“All right, then, master dwarf,” Bilbo said, arranging himself so he was fully facing Kili once more. “I'm listening.”

Kili seemed to think hard for a moment. Then he pointed at Bilbo. “Hobbit orc,” he said. Bilbo frowned and opened his mouth, but Kili raised his hand. “Listen,” he said. “Can listen?” Bilbo closed his mouth again and nodded, and Kili pointed at Fili, who had reappeared and was talking to Dwalin on the other side of the camp. “Fili orc,” he said. He stared at Bilbo until Bilbo nodded again, though he had no idea what Kili was really trying to put across. “ _Khozd shrakhun_ hobbit _snaga_ , hobbit want kill _Khozd shrakhun_ , hobbit kill _Khozd shrakhun_ ,” Kili said, rather fast, as if he was afraid he would forget the end of the sentence before he got there. He stared at Bilbo and Bilbo nodded hesitantly. Then Kili pointed to Fili. “ _Khozd shrakhun_ Fili _snaga_ , hobbit want kill _Khozd shrakhun_ , hobbit not kill,” he said. “Not can kill, not hobbit _snaga_. Understand?”

“Well, I--” Bilbo thought about it. “You can only kill your own _snaga_ , not someone else's?” he said.

Kili nodded. “Yes. Understand.”

“But I don't!” Bilbo said. “What does this have to do with anything? I don't understand.”

Kili gave him a look like he was a particularly slow child. “ _Khozd shrakhun_ dwarfs _snaga_ , men not kill,” he said. “Not can kill, not men _snaga_.”

“But you are not our _snaga_ ,” Bilbo protested. Kili shook his head and then reached up to his collar, twisting it round on his neck. It must have been quite painful, and Bilbo reached to stop him, but Kili had turned it all the way round so the chain hung at the front, and now he picked it up and held it out to Bilbo.

“Can,” he said. “Can I'm dwarfs _snaga_. Have food, have knife.”

“No,” Bilbo said, feeling suddenly rather sick at the sight of the heavy, rusty chain. He pushed Kili's hand away. “No, you are not a _snaga_. You are my friend.”

Kili shook his head, now. “More good I'm _snaga_ , men not kill,” he said, pressing the end of his chain into Bilbo's hand. “Less good I'm not _snaga_ , men kill.”

“Kili, please,” said Bilbo, but Kili suddenly dropped his head and grew still, and Bilbo looked up to see Thorin scowling down at the chain in his hand.

“What is the meaning of this, Mr. Baggins?” he said.

“Er,” Bilbo said, and dropped the chain as though it had burned him. “Well, it's -- listen, I can explain.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Then explain,” he said.

Bilbo closed his eyes. Why the dratted dwarf always seemed to appear at the worst times, he could not say. “Kili thinks,” he started, and then held a quick mental debate about the wisdom of continuing that sentence. But Thorin was glaring, and Bilbo did not think well under such conditions, so he could think of nothing to tell him but the truth. “Kili thinks if we pretend he is our prisoner, the men will not want to kill him,” he said, rather faster than was strictly necessary.

Thorin glowered at him. “ _Kili_ thinks?” he said. 

Bilbo frowned. “Yes, actually,” he said. “ _I_ certainly wouldn't have come up with such a dreadful scheme, if that's what you're trying to imply.”

Thorin looked from Bilbo to Kili and back again. “It is out of the question,” he said, and turned away.

“Well, that's what I said,” Bilbo muttered, but Thorin was stopped short by Balin, who had been standing behind him watching the exchange. 

“Thorin,” he said. “We cannot march on Erebor with only the clothes we stand up in.”

“I will not have my nephew paraded in front of those men as though he was a slave,” Thorin growled, and pushed past the old dwarf. Balin turned with him, plucking at his sleeve.

“We cannot go forward,” he said. “We certainly cannot go back. And we cannot stay here and just wait for our enemies to find us. Thorin, will you at least consider it?”

But Thorin did not answer, stalking away without another word. Balin sighed, and then turned, looking down at Kili, whose head was still bowed.

“You're a brave lad,” he said quietly. “A good lad. You always were.”

And he turned away.

\----

Fili came back over with questions that Bilbo did not answer, for he saw no use in upsetting the young dwarf with a plan that was clearly never going to come to fruition. Fili shrugged finally and sat down next to his brother, close enough that their shoulders touched, though only lightly. Kili grew rather tense, but Bilbo patted his knee and let him twist his fingers into his sleeve, and after a few minutes the little dwarf relaxed, or at least became less rigid in the shoulders. The three of them sat, not speaking and watching the bustle as the camp came to life. Thorin had disappeared, and Balin with him, and Bilbo supposed they were off somewhere arguing in their dwarvish way, and hoped they did not manage to get themselves eaten by wolves or kidnapped by elves.

“Hobbit,” said Kili after a while. “Elf not kill. He's friend?”

Bilbo glanced round at him. He was staring at Bilbo, and so was Fili. 

“What elf?” said Fili.

“I don't know,” Bilbo said. “Kili, which elf do you mean?”

“Elf not kill,” Kili said. “Elf. Not kill, he's friend?”

“Well, that's enlightening,” Fili murmured.

“I don't understand,” Bilbo said. “Which elf?” He could not think of any elf that Kili could mean other than the keeper of the keys, and although he had certainly not killed Kili, Bilbo rather thought the little dwarf would not be quick to call him _friend_. 

Kili flexed his fingers in Bilbo's sleeve. “Elf,” he insisted. “Hobbit speak elf, hobbit speak I'm. Speak _golug_ want _vrasizish_ \--” he broke off in a growl of frustration.

“Kili,” Fili said quietly, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. “It's all right.”

“Not speak good,” Kili muttered, and Bilbo resisted the urge to hug him, and then considered not resisting it. He was beaten to it, though, for Fili slung an arm round his brother's shoulders and pulled him close, seeming casual about it, but watching Kili closely from under his eyelashes. Kili sat staring straight ahead, but he was suddenly tense, and his grip on Bilbo's sleeve became rather painful. After a moment or so, Fili withdrew his arm, but he ruffled Kili's hair as he did so, and he did not withdraw entirely, but pressed a little closer against his brother's side.

“You're a lot better at Common than we are at Black Speech,” he said.

“Well,” Bilbo said, clearing his throat. “Let's see if we can't get to the bottom of this, shall we?” He looked at Kili. “There is an elf,” he said. Kili nodded, and Bilbo continued. “I talked to the elf.” Kili looked worried, and Bilbo said, “ _Talk_ is like _speak_.”

“Tock, yes,” Kili said. “Hobbit tock elf.”

“And then I talked to you,” Bilbo said. 

Kili nodded. “Tock I'm.”

“And I said-- _say_ is like _speak_ , and don't ask me why we have so many words that mean the same thing, for I'm sure I don't know -- I said that--?”

“Tock elf--” Kili frowned in thought “--want kill I'm. But he's not kill.”

“But Kili,” Bilbo said. “That was an elf- _maid_.”

Kili stared at him. “Elf,” he said. “Yes. He's friend?”

“ _She_ ,” Fili said firmly, then looked at Bilbo. “It was Tauriel?” 

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, master dwarf,” he said to Kili. “I think perhaps she is a friend.”

“He's friend,” said Kili thoughtfully, and Fili snorted.

“She,” he said again. “ _She's_ a friend. She is a maid.”

Kili looked from his brother to Bilbo. “She's friend?” he said, rather hesitantly.

“That's right,” Bilbo smiled. “But can you not tell the difference between a maid and a man?”

Fili smirked a little at that. “We dwarves do find elves rather... confusing in some aspects,” he said. “And they return the favour, I might add.”

“Well,” Bilbo said. “That is all quite peculiar.”

He would have delved into the subject further, but at that moment, Thorin reappeared, with Balin on his heels. His face was stony, and he made straight for the tree where the three of them sat.

“Fili,” he said. “Find us something to eat.”

Fili jumped to his feet immediately, but stood looking rather worried.

“I have no weapons for hunting, uncle,” he said.

Thorin turned to him and raised an eyebrow. Fili ducked his head and muttered a quick affirmation, then fled. Thorin watched him go for a moment, then, to Bilbo's surprise, sank down gracefully to sit cross-legged in front of Kili. Somehow he managed to make it look like he was sitting on a throne. Bilbo had no idea how he constantly did that, but it was really quite irritating.

“Kili,” said Thorin, his voice low and more gentle than Bilbo thought he had ever heard it. Kili, though, remained silent and still, head bowed and eyes downcast. Thorin watched him for a long moment, then turned to look at Bilbo.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said. “It would appear I require your assistance yet again.”

Bilbo nodded, feeling his throat tighten a little at the resignation in Thorin's eyes. He patted Kili on the arm.

“Come, now, my lad,” he said. “You must speak to Thorin. He is not angry with you.”

Kili glanced sideways at Bilbo, and Bilbo nodded and smiled and pointed enthusiastically at Thorin. “Please,” he said. 

Kili raised his head, then, though he would not look at Thorin for very long, his eyes always skating away. Thorin, for his part, fixed him with a steady stare.

“Do you understand that you are not our prisoner?” he said.

Kili didn't answer, and Thorin glanced at Bilbo.

“ _Snaga_ ,” Bilbo murmured. “I don't think he knows _prisoner_.”

Thorin's upper lip twitched, but he looked back at his nephew. “Kili,” he said. “You are not a _snaga_.” His lips curled in disgust around the Black Speech word. “Do you understand?”

Kili glanced at Bilbo with a worried frown. Bilbo squeezed his arm.

“Can go,” he said. “You're free, can go.”

“Can go,” Kili whispered, and then turned back to Thorin. “Yes,” he said. “Understand.”

Thorin nodded. “If we pretend to the men of Lake-Town that you are our -- our _snaga_ , it will not make it true,” he said. “It will not be real, do you understand? We are not your jailers, we are your kin.”

Kili's fingers twisted in Bilbo's sleeve. “Not understand,” he muttered.

“Mr. Baggins,” said Thorin, and Bilbo wondered when he had become a translator, and whether it even counted as translating when both the beginning and the end were in the same tongue.

“If we pretend--” he started, and then realised that that would certainly not do. Hm. “We make the men think you are our _snaga_ ,” he said, and then paused to check that Kili was following along. Kili nodded, and Bilbo continued. “But you are not our _snaga_. You are our friend. We make the men think it, but it is not true, not real. Do you understand?”

Kili nodded slowly. “Make think only,” he said. “Understand.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo, then. “What do you think, Mr. Baggins?” he said. “Does he truly understand?”

“Well enough, I think,” Bilbo said, though he was reluctant, for of course he knew what must be coming next -- and he was right. Thorin glanced up at Balin, who stood beside and a little behind him, and then turned back to his nephew. He reached out a slow hand and brushed his fingertips against the chain that now hung in the centre of Kili's chest.

“Forgive me, Dis,” he muttered, closing his eyes and bowing his head a moment in an expression of grief and shame. Then he wrapped his fingers around the end of the chain and raised his head, eyes hard.

“Then that is what we shall do,” he said.


	20. Chapter 20

By the time Fili returned to the camp, carrying what appeared to be a heap of mushrooms in his shirt-front and looking rather frustrated and perhaps a little embarrassed, Thorin had all the dwarves up and moving around, dousing the fire and preparing themselves to leave. The sun had set, and the light was grown dim, but Bilbo saw clearly when Thorin caught Fili by the arm and ducked his head to speak to him. They were too far away for Bilbo to hear what was said, but he certainly saw when Fili looked sharply over at Kili and then back at his uncle and shook his head, and he saw the anger and disbelief that twisted the young dwarf's features. Fili's voice rose, and Bilbo realised they were speaking the dwarvish tongue. He did not need to hear what they were saying, though, for the way Thorin gripped Fili's arm, the way Fili kept shaking his head, the way the other dwarves exchanged glances and carefully did not look at either of them -- the subject of their conversation was quite clear to Bilbo.

Finally, Fili bowed his head and said something sullen and short, pulling his arm from Thorin's grip and dropping his mushrooms on the ground. He stalked away, and Thorin watched him go and did not try to follow him.

“She's angry,” Kili said, and Bilbo turned to look at him. He was looking at Bilbo with a worried expression.

“What?” Bilbo said.

“Angry,” Kili said. “She's angry. Is. She's is angry.”

“You were right the first time,” Bilbo said. “But who is angry?”

“Fili,” Kili said, as though he was rather surprised that Bilbo even needed to ask the question. He frowned, and glanced over to where Fili stood viciously digging twigs out of his hair and beard and pointedly not looking at anyone. “Is angry, yes?”

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo said. “Fili is angry, but he is not a maid. _She_ is only for maids.” 

Kili hesitated. “Not know _maid_ ,” he said.

“Well, maids are ladies. Girls. Lasses,” Bilbo said, but of course, Kili looked completely blank. Bilbo found himself stymied. How could he explain? It did not help that there were no maids of any race to be seen, but at least he knew one that Kili would remember. “Tauriel,” he said. “Tauriel -- the elf who did not kill you -- she is a maid. _She_.” He nodded, but Kili did not nod back, just watching him, apparently in deep concentration. Bilbo pointed at Fili. “Fili is a he-dwarf,” he said. “ _He_. All the dwarves are _he_. Understand?”

Kili looked around the camp, and then back at Bilbo. “Hobbit he?” he asked.

“Yes, that's right,” Bilbo said, although he felt slightly offended that Kili apparently couldn't tell. “I am a he.”

Kili nodded slowly, then. “Understand,” he said. “Elves she. Dwarves he, hobbits he.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo, and then, “no! No, that is not right, there are he-elves and she-hobbits, and I am told there are dwarf-maids as well, although I have never seen one.”

Kili looked hopelessly confused, and Bilbo felt rather that way, as well. “I don't understand,” he said. “Surely there must be women amongst the orcs? Where do new orcs come from, if there are not?”

Kili shook his head. “Why many word?” he said. “He, she. Why many?”

Bilbo frowned, and then felt a spark of realisation. “How many words are there in orc-speech?” he asked. “What -- how would you say _he_ in orc-speech?”

Kili looked rather nervous, but Bilbo nudged him and he spoke, though he dropped his eyes to the ground. “ _Ta_ ,” he said.

“ _Ta_ ,” Bilbo replied. “And if it was Tauriel? _Ta?_ ”

Kili nodded, and it did not seem that he would reply, at least not in words, but then he seemed to come to some sort of decision. “Not speak _ta_ ,” he said. “Hobbit-speak, speak _he_ many, orc-speak not speak -- not tock _ta_.”

Well, Bilbo did not understand that at all, but he thought he was starting to understand the confusion concerning _she_ and _he_ at any rate, and so he decided to return to the subject of _not speak ta_ at a later date, and instead press home his advantage while he could.

“You only have one word,” he said. “ _He_ and _she_ are both _ta_.”

“Yes,” said Kili. “One word. Not understand what _he_ , what _she_.”

Bilbo tried to imagine what it might be like, to have no obvious distinction between _he_ and _she_ in speech. Surely Kili could tell the difference, at least for some races, and yet how could he explain how the words were used? It was such an important distinction, for he could understand many of the odd ways that Kili put things, and yet so far he had failed every time Kili used _he_ when he meant _she_ , or the other way around. But if it was so important, why was it so hard to explain?

And then, Bilbo realised as he thought his way further into the problem, it might become even more complicated than that. He pointed at the nearest tree and turned to Kili. “How would you say that?” he asked.

Kili followed his finger and frowned. “ _Dru_ ,” he said, very quietly. “Tree.”

“But is it _ta_?” Bilbo asked. “Is it _ta_ , or is there another word?”

“ _Ta_ ,” Kili said, nodding. He pointed at Dwalin. “ _Ta_ ,” he said, and then pointed at the fire. “ _Ta_.” At Bofur. “ _Ta_.” At his own foot. “ _Ta_.” He looked up at Bilbo. “Understand?”

“Yes, I think I do,” Bilbo said, but before he could delve into the subject further, there was a grumbling shout from Dwalin, and all the dwarves rose to their feet, preparing to leave. There was little to carry with them, aside from burning brands to light their way through the deepening shadows under the trees. Fili stalked over to his brother's side, glaring at Bilbo.

“Was this your idea?” he asked.

“No!” Bilbo said, although he did feel a little guilty and even rather intimidated at the rage in Fili's eyes, for it was true that if he had not conveyed Kili's plan to Thorin, it would never have gone further than the two of them. “Kili thought of it.”

“Kili is a child!” Fili said. “He cannot even put two sentences together, why would Thorin listen to him?”

Bilbo found himself stunned into speechlessness, but then the dwarves began to move, and Fili, with a last glare at Bilbo, grabbed Kili's elbow and started to pull him forward. Bilbo trotted to catch up, and when he did he found that Fili was staring grimly ahead and Kili had his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched as he allowed Fili to drag him along.

“Master Fili!” Bilbo hissed. “Look what you're doing!”

Fili scowled at him, but then he took in the sight of his brother and slowed his pace suddenly, his fingers loosening on Kili's arm.

“He's not angry with you,” Bilbo whispered to Kili, but Kili did not look at him, and Bilbo appealed to Fili. “Could you tell him?”

Fili glanced at Bilbo, face dark, then turned back to face forward.

“No,” he said. “I can't.”

\----

It was a long league from their camp under the trees to the shores of the Long Lake, especially with Fili silently glowering by Kili's side, and it was full dark by the time they finally saw the sky open out, the stars bright and cold and infinitely many. Bilbo tried a few times to tell Kili the name of something they were passing, but the little dwarf seemed sunk in gloom, as if his brother's mood were contagious, and eventually he settled for patting Kili's arm every now and then.

When they reached the lake shore, they drew to a halt, Thorin and Balin arguing softly over something before they turned to the company and announced that they should stay where they were while Thorin, Balin and Dwalin went to inquire at the gate of the town. Bilbo saw a great wooden bridge, lined with burning torches, that led to a ramshackle collection of houses built out over the lake itself. The torches and lamps reflected off the great expanse of water, and far to their left, the Lonely Mountain was silhouetted against the starry sky. Bilbo tugged at Kili's sleeve and pointed.

“Look, my lad,” he said. “That is where we are going. That is your home!”

Kili did not respond, and Bilbo looked at him to see that he was staring wide-eyed at the lake. Fili chose that moment to try and tug him closer to the bridge, and Kili dug his heels into the sand of the lake shore and did not move.

“Come on,” Fili said, and tugged again, and when Kili still refused to budge an inch, he turned to glare at his brother. “It was you who wanted to go there,” he said. “Why do you not move?”

“Fili,” Bilbo said, and Fili shot him a glare. 

“Stay out of this,” he said.

Bilbo gritted his teeth and stepped forward, putting a hand over Fili's where he gripped Kili's arm. “I know you're angry,” he said, “but this is not helping.”

“Helping!” Fili said. “What is the point in my helping, if you and my uncle are just going to treat him like a slave anyway!”

Bilbo raised his hands. “I have had nothing to do with this--” he started, but Fili rounded on him, then, eyes flashing in the light of the torches. 

“Why not?” he said. “You are the one who looks after him, you are the one Thorin trusts with him. If you had said no, maybe he would have heeded you. But you didn't! And he does not listen to me, he thinks I am still a child.”

“Well, maybe he wouldn't if you stopped behaving like one,” Bilbo snapped, for he was quite unprepared to be blamed for not standing up to the dwarf king, as if there was ever a chance that Bilbo, of all people, might have been able to change his mind. “And if you would prefer I not look after _your_ brother, then I'm sure that can be arranged!”

“Do you think I don't want that?” Fili said then, and he grabbed Bilbo by the lapels, exciting a squeak of surprise from the little hobbit. “Do you think I wouldn't give the blood in my veins to have him cling to me the way he does to you? I am his brother!”

Bilbo opened and shut his mouth, but whatever he might have said (and at that moment, nothing at all was coming to his mind), he was interrupted, for Kili tugged on Fili's sleeve, and both of them turned to see that he was staring at them, face troubled.

“Not punish hobbit,” Kili said, his voice so quiet Bilbo could barely hear it. 

Fili gaped at him for a moment, and then closed his eyes, his mouth twisting. He turned back to Bilbo and set him gently down, loosing his hands from Bilbo's coat and laying them on his shoulders.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said. “I don't know what came over me.”

Bilbo sighed. “It's all right, my lad,” he said. “I think I do. And it's nothing that I can't forgive, though I would prefer it if you didn't do it again. It's rather bad for my jacket, and I had so hoped to wear it at my next birthday party.”

Fili made a surprised noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a cough, and Bilbo patted his arm and turned to Kili.

“Now then,” he said. “Your brother is not going to punish me, or anyone. He's very kind.”

Kili glanced at Fili from under his eyelashes, and Bilbo sighed. “You can't keep doing this, you know,” he said, his voice low enough that he thought Fili might not hear him. “Eventually you will break his heart.”

Kili shook his head, but apparently Bilbo had not been as quiet as he thought, for Fili laid a warm hand on his shoulder and spoke in his ear.

“My heart is made of sterner stuff than you imagine,” he said.

He turned to his brother, then, and took him by the shoulders, though gently, and leaving plenty of space between them. “Kili,” he said. “Your plan is a terrible one, and I am angry, but I'm sorry for frightening you. And--” he paused and drew a breath, “--and I am not angry with you. Or at least, not so much that I cannot forget it.”

Kili stared at him, and then nodded.

“Not angry,” he said. “Forgot.”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, I hope you can forget you are angry with me, as well,” he said. “I've only just got your uncle to stop glaring at me all the time, I don't think I could take it from you as well.”

Fili sighed. “I was never angry with you,” he said. “Not really.”

“Not for stealing your brother?” Bilbo asked, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, the words came out hesitant and worried, and he took a moment to consider whether he ought to start practising lying in the mirror.

Fili was silent for a moment, and then he sat down heavily on the sand.

“You are not the one who stole my brother, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

\----

They waited in silence for a while, Bilbo sitting beside Fili now, with Kili on his other side. It was a beautiful night, the air startlingly clear, though there was enough of a chill to remind them that summer was definitely in the past and winter in the near future. Bilbo stared at the water of the lake, and at the lights of the town, and wondered if it was true that the whole thing was built on boats. He wasn't sure he wanted to go out there any more than Fili did, but what choice did they have?

Beside him, Fili was half-sprawled on the sand, propped up on his elbows. Bilbo, feeling the silence grow rather heavy, glanced down at him. “Did you know there is no difference in Black Speech between _he_ and _she_?” he said. “I cannot for the life of me get Kili to understand it.”

Fili's lips quirked a little at that. “He used to be terrible at recognising human women when we were dwarflings,” he said. “He always assumed they were children, because they had no beards.”

Bilbo chuckled a little at that, though in truth he was still not entirely sure the dwarves were not playing an elaborate joke on him with their insistence that dwarf women had beards just as thick as the men-folk. “But Fili,” he said, “you understand that your brother is no longer a child, don't you? Just because he can't always make himself understood does not mean there's nothing to understand.”

Fili picked at something in the sand by his knee. “He was so young when they took him,” he said. “He still played with toys.”

“But that was a long time ago,” Bilbo said. “I think you have both done a great deal of growing up since then.”

Fili sat up, then, staring at the lights across the lake.

“Yes, master hobbit,” he said. “I believe we have.”

\----

Thorin, Balin and Dwalin returned after less than an hour and called for silence. The dwarves stood, and Bilbo stood with them, waiting to hear what the people of Lake-Town had had to say about such a strange company begging entrance at their gates.

“We have spoken to the Master of Lake-Town,” Thorin announced, and an excited hum ran through the company. 

“What did he say?” asked Ori, and was loudly shushed by his brother. 

Balin's old face split into a smile. “He welcomes the King Under the Mountain and all who travel with him,” he said, and the dwarves gave a ragged cheer. “He will supply us with all we need, and a place to rest, as well.”

“What about young Kili?” asked Bofur, and Bilbo saw Fili move slightly closer to his brother out of the corner of his eye.

Thorin cleared his throat. “He is willing to accommodate our... prisoner, provided we guarantee the safety of the townsfolk.”

“What do they think he's going to do, eat them?” Gloin grumbled, but in fact it was the best outcome they could have hoped for, and the company quickly made ready to leave. Thorin strode over to where Bilbo, Kili and Fili stood near the back of the crowd, and looked Kili up and down with an appraising eye.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said. “I would not have any of the men of this town recognise his face, should they see it again one day.”

Bilbo nodded and set about brushing Kili's tangled hair over his face. Kili submitted to his ministrations without complaint, and when the job was done he looked almost as wild as he had the first day they had found him out in the wildlands, though Bombur's undershirt was not quite as ragged and filthy as the clothes he had worn then. Thorin gave him another appraising look, then nodded in apparent satisfaction.

“Who will lead him?” he asked. “Fili?”

Fili took a sharp step backwards and shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice flat and angry. “I will not.”

Thorin shot an irritated look at him, and Fili met him glare for glare. Bilbo considered taking cover behind a nearby stand of vegetation, but Thorin shook his head with a grunt and turned towards him.

“Mr. Baggins, then,” he said. Bilbo stepped forward and took hold of the chain, trying to ignore Fili's eyes burning holes in the side of his head, but it became immediately apparent that this would not do either, for the chain was short enough that when Bilbo's hand was by his side, it tugged uncomfortably on Kili's neck, forcing him to stoop, and when Bilbo discovered this he of course let it go immediately.

Thorin sighed. “It cannot be me,” he said. “I want him walking in the middle, not near the head.” He glanced around at the company. “Dwalin,” he called. “Come here.”

Dwalin stumped over, and, when Thorin explained, he nodded, though he did not look best pleased. Before he took the chain, though, he stooped so his eyes were of a level with Kili's, although of course Kili did not look up from the ground.

“All right, laddie,” he said. “I'm going to lead you into the town. But I'm only leading you so I can protect you, you understand? I'm only looking after you. And you've got your brother and Mr. Baggins here to look after you, too, so nothing's going to happen.”

Kili did not respond, but Fili moved back to his side and pressed against his shoulder, though his face was still tight with anger, and Bilbo stepped to his other side and patted his arm.

“It'll all be fine,” he said. “Make think only.”

Dwalin sighed, then, and picked up the end of the chain, frowning down at it as he flexed his fingers around it. “First we find a forge,” he said, “I'm melting this down and turning it into a sword. There'll be a lot of orcs'll be sorry they ever put this iron in my hands.”

Thorin nodded gravely. “It is well-said,” he said, and clapped Dwalin on the shoulder, then moved to his place at the head of the company. “Then let us go.”

\----

The company marched in an oval shape, with Kili in the centre. Dwalin walked before, the end of the chain held loosely in his fist, and Fili and Bilbo flanked Kili, Fili with his jaw still clenched and Bilbo brushing his arm against Kili's side without being too obvious about it. Behind Kili walked Bifur, and around them all the other dwarves arranged themselves in a ring, with Thorin at the head and Balin by his side, so that Bilbo could see nothing around him but dwarven heads and shoulders and backs, and Kili must have been almost invisible to anyone looking from the outside.

They hit a brief stumbling block when they first stepped onto the bridge, for Kili hesitated and Bifur almost ran into him. Bilbo whispered encouragement, but it was Dwalin who solved the problem, although quite possibly without knowing that he had done so or even that there had been a problem in the first place, for he simply kept walking and after two steps the chain stretched taut and tugged Kili forward. Dwalin stopped, then, looking sharply over his shoulder, but Kili was on the bridge and moving, though his head was down and his shoulders shook. Bilbo wished he could pat him on the arm, but he did not know how much the men of Lake-Town might be able to see, and so he contented himself with walking as close as he dared.

When they reached the city gate, Thorin had a brief conversation with someone who Bilbo could not see, and they were let through and led along slippery wooden walkways between rickety-looking houses, the walls leaning outwards and shadowing their passage. People stared out of windows on the upper floors, and there was a whispering and a buzzing that seemed to follow them as they marched, so that Bilbo was quite relieved when they finally climbed a set of steps and found themselves in a well-appointed entrance hall, with a grand staircase sweeping down before them. On the staircase stood a man, dressed in fine clothes and wearing a well-kept beard, with a slighter man beside him. He smiled and bowed, and the rings flashed on his fingers in the light of the chandeliers.

“Well met, King Under the Mountain!” he cried. “Glad I am indeed to see you at last return.”

“I am grateful for your welcome, Master of Lake-Town,” Thorin said, in his gravest voice, and Bilbo found himself standing up a little straighter, suddenly aware that he was, in effect, part of a royal retinue. “It is good to see that the men of this land have not forgotten our old friendship.”

“No indeed!” the Master said. “Such a precious thing should never be forgotten! But I am only too happy to put myself and my town at your disposal. My men are preparing a house for your use as we speak; in the meantime, I invite you to dine with me and the worthies of the town. You will find our hospitality quite agreeable, I assure you.”

“I doubt it not,” Thorin said, “and of course I would be honoured.”

“Ah!” the Master said. “And your companions as well! It is not often we have such honoured company!” The slight man leaned forward and whispered something into the Master's ear, and the Master nodded. “And as for your--” he waved a hand “--less welcome guest, I can offer an empty cell in the town jail. The walls and doors are quite sturdy, and the jailers are armed to the teeth. I assure you he will not find his way out!”

Bilbo saw Fili stiffen out of the corner of his eye, and Dwalin took the smallest side-step, placing himself more firmly between Kili and the Master. Thorin's tone, however, did not change in the slightest.

“I am grateful for your offer,” he said, “but I am afraid I must decline. Our prisoner has certain knowledge which is not suitable for the ears of any but the dwarves of Erebor. I am sure you understand.”

The Master raised a curious eyebrow. “I see,” he said. “Well, I cannot exactly have him wandering the streets.”

“He will wander nowhere,” Thorin said. “We will ensure that he is kept well-guarded. In return, I ask that your people do not try to speak to him nor even to approach him.”

The Master's eyes narrowed, then, and he seemed to crane a little to try and get a glimpse of Kili. “That sounds quite ominous, Thorin King,” he said. “Are you sure you will be able to keep him under control?”

“None of your people will be in the slightest danger,” Thorin said. “I give you my word as King Under the Mountain.”

“Well,” said the Master, “I certainly couldn't ask for more than that! Then I will, of course, instruct my men to keep their distance. But now, to more pleasant matters! To your left, if you will, and you will find all ready for you to prepare for dinner.”

And he gave a deep bow, though Bilbo could not see if Thorin did the same.

The company filed into the room that opened off the left of the great entrance-way, and found there steaming ewers and bowls for washing in, and, wonder of wonders, thick, fluffy towels, one a piece, though they were one short, of course, for the men of Lake-Town had been told there were thirteen guests and one prisoner, and no-one expected the prisoner to wash. In truth, it was better if he did not, for the tangled hair over his face and the accumulated dirt of the days in Mirkwood and the elvish dungeon made his features almost impossible to make out, and certainly Bilbo understood that, if ever the dwarves were to take back Erebor and Kili were to become its prince, it would be better if none of the men of Lake-Town could see in him the dangerous prisoner who had once passed through their town. Furthermore, he had little doubt Kili would prefer not to wash, given his general feelings about water. All the same, he felt a little guilty as he scrubbed the grime from his own face and almost groaned with the pleasure of drying his skin with the heavenly towel, only to see Kili in the corner, hunched in a bundle of tangled hair and grimy linen.

Thorin had decreed that someone must be holding Kili's chain at all times, at least while they were still under such watchful eyes, and so Bifur took a turn at it while Dwalin washed, and then Gloin took over from him. Fili was grim and silent, washing mechanically and seeming not even to be excited by his towel, which Bilbo found quite astonishing.

“My Lord King,” the Master said, appearing at a door on the other side of the room from where they had come in. “Dinner is served.”

Thorin nodded. “And our prisoner?” he said. “You understand we will not want to take him into the dining hall.” 

“Of course,” the Master said. “I have a room he can be kept in. Should I assign some guards--?”

“I have asked that your men do not approach him,” Thorin said, still sounding grave and polite, but now with just an edge of danger. “I thought I had your agreement on this matter.”

“Of course, of course,” the Master said, rubbing his hands with an obsequious smile. “I just do not wish for any of your fine companions to miss out on the dinner, that's all. But we will bring food, naturally, naturally.”

Thorin nodded, then glanced around at the assembled company. “Dwalin, Fili, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “You will stay with the prisoner.”

“So many?” the Master asked. “My goodness, Thorin King, I begin to reconsider my assent to your terms if the prisoner is so dangerous he needs three guards even when bound and unarmed.”

Thorin's face grew stony. “I gave you my word that none would be harmed,” he said. The Master merely shrugged slightly, and Thorin's jaw clenched, but he turned back to the dwarves. “Dwalin only,” he said. Fili opened his mouth, but Thorin shot him a hard stare, and whatever protest there might have been died in his throat. 

“Follow me, follow me,” the Master said, and with a sinking heart, Bilbo did.

\----

Dinner was a rather strange affair, for the dignitaries of Lake-Town were arrayed in their finest garments, and the dwarves sat in their underclothes, still looking rather bedraggled, though a little cleaner now, and with twigs and burrs caught in their hair and beards. They certainly seemed nothing like the magnificent folk of Erebor of old, of which the assembled men spoke with enthusiasm and the light of greed in their eyes. More even than of the majesty of King Thror and his people, they spoke of the legends of gold in unimaginable quantities, gold that was enough to fill the whole mountain, gold that had been enough to attract a dragon from the north. The dwarves, unusually for them, were rather subdued, at least in terms of throwing food and singing, but they joined in the talk of gold eagerly enough, and those who had been in Erebor when it fell told stories of their youth, and those who had not told the stories their parents had told them. Only Fili and Bilbo sat silent, Bilbo because in all honesty he did not much care about gold, and Fili because he was clearly still absolutely furious.

At last, Bilbo's neighbour, a portly man with a greying beard and a fine golden chain hung about his neck, turned to Bilbo and said, “But you are not a dwarf, Mr. Baggins?”

“No,” Bilbo replied. “I am a hobbit.” 

The man looked somewhat surprised. “Well, I do not believe I know what that is,” he said. “I had heard there were thirteen dwarves come to retake Erebor, not twelve dwarves and a hobbit.”

“Don't forget the other one,” a sharp-faced woman said from across the table. “Where did you find _him_ , I wonder?”

“That is none of your concern,” Fili said sharply, and the woman looked taken aback and then rather offended.

“Well, I am sure the dwarves of Erebor had better manners in my grandfather's day,” she said.

“Fili,” Bilbo hissed, for they could ill afford to offend their hosts, much less give them reason to believe that Kili was anything but a prisoner to them.

“I apologise, _my lady_ ,” Fili choked out. “I am tired and travel-sore, and I have forgotten my manners.”

The sharp-faced woman did not look particularly mollified. “Well, we shall speak no more of it,” she said, and then started talking loudly about how much rain they might expect that winter, to Bilbo's relief.

Somehow, they got through the rest of the meal without further incident, though Fili barely spoke a word (for which Bilbo was quite grateful, if he was honest with himself). Every time the conversation seemed like it might be steering in the direction of their mysterious prisoner, Bilbo found a way to quickly change the subject, and he found himself expounding at great length on the habits of hobbits and the minutiae of Shire politics, ignoring the fact that his audience clearly had very little interest in the subject. If it had been needed to stop Fili from exploding, Bilbo would have got up and danced a jig on the table, but luckily the dinner finally drew to a close without such measures proving necessary, and, once Thorin had fetched Dwalin and Kili from the room where they had been secreted, the Master informed them that he would show them to their lodgings.

\----

The news of their arrival had apparently spread rapidly through the town, for by the time they were finally led out of the Master's house there were crowds of people on the streets, despite the late hour. They cheered when they saw the Master step forth, and then cheered harder when they saw Thorin, for despite the fact that he had not bathed for many days and was dressed only in his boots, breeches and undershirt, there could be no doubting that he was the King Under the Mountain. The company moved as before, with Kili in the centre, silent and bowed, but the crowds pressed in on them from all sides, craning their necks for a look at the dwarves, and Bilbo found himself getting rather nervous.

The Master led them through the streets at a pace that might be charitably described as _stately_. “I've moved faster than this with two broken legs,” Dwalin grumbled under his breath, his fist tight around the end of Kili's chain and his head constantly turning, scanning the crowds for anyone who might pose a threat. At last, though, the Master stopped outside a tall wooden house and gestured grandly.

“This house will be entirely at your disposal!” he said. “I will send food and clothes for you in the morning.”

Thorin stepped forward and started making some speech or other, but Bilbo was distracted by a group of youngsters who had gathered on a balcony above their heads.

“What about that one?” one of them -- a small boy -- asked. “Why's his face all covered in hair?”

“That one's a goblin,” said an older girl confidently. “Slit your throat soon as look at you, it would, and then eat you for dinner. I heard Ma say.”

The little boy squeaked in terror, and then a slightly older boy spoke up.

“Don't worry,” he said, “I wouldn't let it eat you! I'd run it through with my sword and chop off its head.”

“You'd never,” said the girl. “You'd chop your own feet off first.”

“No, I wouldn't!” the boy insisted loudly. “I'd chop off its head and its nose and ears, too! I'd kick its teeth in, I would!”

Bilbo stared at the wooden walkway and ground his teeth. He had a good mind to storm up there and box their bloodthirsty little ears, and then give their parents a piece of his mind. But he could not, of course he could not, for he had to play the part of someone who would quite happily see Kili's head chopped off. He could not even pat Kili's arm, nor ask him if he understood what was being said (and Bilbo hoped with everything he had that he did not). He did glance sideways at Fili, though, and what he saw almost made him shout at Thorin to hurry up and get them inside, for the young dwarf's lips were white with being pressed together and his fists were clenched so hard that Bilbo was surprised his nails had not broken the skin of his palms.

And then finally, _finally_ they were moving again, and they filed one by one through the doorway of the house and up the narrow stairwell into a large common room, with a long table and chairs and a fire playing merrily in the hearth. The buzz of the crowd faded as they ascended, and by the time Bilbo reached the common room, someone had shut all the windows, so that they could hardly hear it at all. Dwalin still kept the end of Kili's chain clutched loosely in his hand, looking around to see if there were any men to be seen.

“There are bedrooms upstairs,” Balin reported, stepping from a second staircase that led further up. “Fili, Kili, Thorin has chosen one for you, if you'll come with me. Dwalin, you can let the lad go now.”

Dwalin dropped the chain with an audible sigh of relief, and stepped aside, reaching to clap a hand on Kili's shoulder and then arresting the motion and dropping his arm to his side. Bilbo hesitated, and then Balin caught his eye. “Mr. Baggins, you as well,” he said.

\----

The bedroom was tucked away in the furthest corner of the house, and anyone who wanted to get there would have to pass through the common room, up the stairs and past the rooms assigned to every other dwarf before they got there. It was smallish and spare, but there were two beds, each of them certainly large enough to fit all three of them in at a push, a low table and a window. It was the most luxury Bilbo had seen since they left Rivendell, and he clambered up onto the nearest bed and felt a sudden urge to go to sleep right then and there.

“I am sleeping on the other side of the hall,” Thorin said, “and Dwalin is beside you. I have asked the Master that none of his people enter this house without my permission, and he has agreed.” He looked at them, Fili and Kili still on their feet and Bilbo sitting on the bed. “I am sorry,” he said, apparently to no-one in particular.

Bilbo glanced at Fili, but he did not seem to be especially interested in acknowledging Thorin's apology, so Bilbo spoke up. “This is all excellent,” he said. “We're through the worst, now, and I think we'll be quite all right up here, as long as the Big Folk keep their noses out.”

Thorin looked at him and nodded gravely. “I will see that they do, Mr. Baggins,” he said. And then, with a last glance at Fili and Kili, he swept from the room. The moment he was gone, Fili stepped forward and closed the door, harder than was really necessary, then leaned his forehead against it, his hand still clenched tight around the door handle.

“Fili?” Bilbo asked, and laid a hand between his shoulder blades.

Fili gave a growl of frustration and turned so he was leaning back against the door, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Did you hear them out there?” he said. “They are the monsters, not him.” 

Bilbo sighed. “Thorin didn't want to do this any more than you do, you know,” he said. “He refused at first.”

“Then why are we in here with children outside baying for my brother's blood?” Fili asked.

Bilbo closed his eyes a moment and shook his head. “We will be safe in here,” he said, for he could think of nothing else to say. He had the sense of being on an island surrounded by waters that writhed with deadly serpents. 

He gave Fili's arm a squeeze, and then turned to Kili, who still stood in the middle of the room, his head bowed. “Come on, then, my lad,” he said. “Let's get that hair out of your face, you look like a wild beast.” He brushed Kili's hair aside as gently as he could (which was harder than it sounded, for it was really quite extraordinarily tangled), and found that Kili's eyes were fixed on the floor. It was no great surprise, certainly, but still Bilbo felt his heart sink just a little more.

“Now, that won't do,” he said firmly. “Look at me. Who am I?” 

Kili kept his eyes on the floor for a moment, but then they tracked up until they reached about halfway up Bilbo's chest. “Hobbit,” he muttered.

“Exactly,” said Bilbo, feeling slightly more hopeful. “And who are you?”

Kili hesitated, and Bilbo gave him a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “Dwarf,” he said finally.

“Good!” Bilbo said, and then pointed to Fili, still leaning against the door. “And who is this?” 

Kili's eyes flicked to Fili, and then back to Bilbo, landing on his face this time. “Fili,” he said, and Fili even managed something of a smile.

“Well, I'm glad we cleared all that up,” Bilbo said, feeling rather less miserable than he had a moment ago, for in truth he had feared what the result might have been of a whole evening of being led around by the chain. “And I am glad we have beds! I had begun to think I would never see a bed again. Look, Kili.” He pointed. “Bed.”

Kili looked doubtfully at the bed. Bilbo pushed him backwards gently until he seemed to understand and hopped up slightly to sit on it, and then his eyes grew round and he pressed his hands into the down quilt, flexing his fingers and staring at the way they sank into the soft material. 

Bilbo chuckled, and at that moment there was a knock at the door.

Fili was standing upright in a moment, positioning himself in front of Kili. “Who is it?” he called.

“It's just me,” came Ori's voice, and Fili's shoulders relaxed. He glanced at Kili, then at Bilbo, and Bilbo shrugged.

“It's probably good for him to have some of the others around,” he said.

Fili nodded and opened the door, and Ori tumbled in, looking pink and shiny like someone had been scrubbing his face.

“Oh, this is nice,” he said, hopping up to sit on the bed next to Kili. “I'm sharing with Dori and Nori. Dori won't stop trying to clean me! It's like he thinks I'm forty-five still.”

Fili closed the door and sat down on the bed, seeming content not to answer. Ori didn't seem to mind, sprawling on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“That was awful outside, wasn't it?” he said. “I could have throttled those horrible little brats.”

Fili shrugged, and Ori sat up. “Are you all right?” he said. 

“Just don't let me anywhere near them with a weapon,” Fili muttered, and Ori smiled ruefully and clapped him on the shoulder. Then he turned to look shyly at Kili.

“Hello, Kili,” he said. “I missed you while we were stuck in the dungeons. Those elves were dreadful to you, weren't they?”

Kili didn't reply, and Bilbo patted his arm.

“Kili,” he said. “Ori's talking to you. He's your friend, remember?” 

Ori flushed suddenly and looked away. “It's all right if he doesn't want to talk to me,” he said. “I don't mind.”

“I'm sorry--,” Bilbo started, and then Kili looked up at Ori, barely for half a second, and then at Bilbo.

“Ori friend, yes,” he whispered. “Not forgot.”

Ori beamed so broadly it looked rather painful, and even Fili smiled a little. Bilbo sat down on the bed next to Kili and put a quick arm round his shoulders, withdrawing it before the little dwarf could grow tense. “No, my lad,” he said, “it seems you have not.”

Perhaps there were serpents in the water, but for now, at least, they were on dry land.


	21. Chapter 21

Although they had slept for some hours in the day, it was not long at all before both Ori and Bilbo were yawning, and shortly after that Ori said goodnight and left the three of them alone. Fili stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the two beds.

“Someone should share with Kili,” he decided. “In case anything happens.”

Bilbo nodded. What might happen, he was far from sure, but whatever it might be, it would surely be made more difficult if one of them was between Kili and the door. “You, then, Master Fili?” he asked.

Fili stared at the bed, and then at his brother, and for a moment there was an extraordinary look on his face, almost as if he was pleading with someone Bilbo could not see. Then he shook his head, and the look was gone.

“No, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “It should be you.”

Bilbo shifted awkwardly. It was true, of course -- Kili tolerated Fili now much more than he had at first, but he was still wary of him, certainly more than he was of Bilbo -- but it was not _fair_ , and Bilbo, being a hobbit, had a strong sense that fairness was the only thing that he could or should accept. “Fili--” he started, but Fili put a hand on his shoulder.

“I know it will not always be like this,” he said, though there was a twist to his mouth that suggested he was not as convinced as he sounded. “I can bear it. I must bear it.”

Bilbo closed his mouth and nodded. “Well then, master dwarf,” he said to Kili. “Let us get you to bed.”

It took some convincing, and ultimately some manhandling by Fili, to persuade Kili to lie down and let them cover him up with the quilt. Bilbo collected a pillow -- oh, how he had missed pillows! -- and lifted Kili's head, tucking the pillow underneath it. When he lowered Kili's head back down, Kili's eyes grew wide, and he turned half-over onto his stomach and prodded at the pillow, squeezing it and pressing his face into it like a cat. Fili and Bilbo exchanged amused glances, and then Fili sat on the other bed to take off his boots. 

“I wish there was a lock on this door,” he murmured.

Bilbo took off the majority of his clothes -- he was the only member of the company who still possessed more than one layer, and he had been wearing all of them without a break since they had left Beorn's, so that more almost than a bath for himself he wished for a tub of hot water and a washboard -- and clambered up onto Kili's bed, sliding himself under the covers.

“Oh!” he said, feeling the way his body sank into the mattress, and how the pillow was like a cloud under his head, light and fluffy and surely as good as any that the kings of old had rested on. “I cannot understand why I ever allowed Gandalf to talk me into this quest. If I had known there would be no pillows for so much of the time, I certainly would never have come!”

Fili smirked a little, and Bilbo turned his head to look at Kili, who was watching him curiously from the other side of the bed, his face still half-buried in his own pillow.

“We will sleep well tonight, my lad,” he said.

“We will indeed,” said Fili, and blew out the candle.

\----

When Bilbo woke, it was still dark outside. The stars were visible through the little window, and he watched them sleepily for a moment or two before he realised that something had woken him, and that something -- a strange sort of shifting of the mattress -- was still happening. He rolled over, frowning, and his heart leaped in his chest when he saw that the bed beside him was empty, only rumpled covers in the faint light that fell through the window and no little dwarf, no Kili. Bilbo shot up and was about to jump out of the bed and wake Fili when he saw something twitch and realised that what he had thought was a crease in the coverlet was actually a leg. Kili's leg.

Bilbo followed the leg with his eyes, and saw that Kili had not gone far at all. He was huddled in the shadowy corner of the bed, sitting up and wedged in what looked like a rather uncomfortable manner between the headboard and the wall. When Bilbo squinted into the shadows, he could see that Kili's eyes were closed, but his leg twitched relentlessly, and his hands shifted unceasingly in his lap, twisting around each other over and over. 

A bad dream, then. Bilbo sat back on his heels, pondering how best to proceed. The last time someone had tried to wake Kili from a nightmare, they had ended up with a knife to their throat. Bilbo was reasonably certain that Kili had not yet had a chance to start collecting knives, but he also knew that a violent fit would help no-one at all, least of all Kili. Perhaps, then, he should leave him to sleep and hope that the nightmare passed by itself?

Kili's leg twitched in the patch of light, and Bilbo knew he could not do that.

“Well,” he said quietly, steeling himself and leaning forwards, “I hope you don't gouge my eyes out, lad. I'd have a hard time stealing your uncle's treasure back if I was blind.”

He touched Kili very gently on the arm, stroking him slowly, and feeling how the muscles knotted and unknotted beneath his palm, how Kili's whole body shook and trembled. “Now, Master Kili,” he crooned. “It's time to wake up. It's time to wake up.”

This seemed to have absolutely no effect, and Bilbo was considering whether he should progress from stroking to shaking when Kili's breath suddenly hitched in his chest and he jerked violently under Bilbo's hand. Bilbo's fingers instinctively tightened around Kili's arm, and Kili's eyes snapped open, wide and staring, and the next thing Bilbo knew he was on his back on the mattress, with Kili snarling in his face.

“Kili!” he cried. “It's me, it's Bilbo!”

And then Kili's weight was gone, and Bilbo sat up, not understanding what had happened until he saw Fili rolling Kili over on the bed beside him, ruthlessly pinning his flailing limbs and using his own weight to force Kili to lie flat on his stomach. The little dwarf growled and snapped and struggled, and Fili sat on his back and pinned his wrists to the mattress, bowing his head and whispering into his ear.

“Sh, now,” he whispered. “Sh, sh, it's all right. You're all right, you're all right.”

Kili's struggles slowed, and then he made a sound that was less of a snarl and more of a sob, and went suddenly still, closing his eyes. Fili carefully shifted so that he was pinning both of Kili's wrists with one hand, and then used the other to stroke Kili's hair.

“Sh,” he whispered. “Sh, my brother. It's all right, I'm here.”

Bilbo crept closer, lying down next to Kili and patting him on the arm.

“Just a bad dream,” he said. “Just a dream, my lad.” 

Kili's eyes opened then, the whites startling in the dim light. He was shaking, but he did not growl, only stared at Bilbo without blinking.

“I think he's all right, now,” Bilbo said. 

Fili hesitated, and then slowly loosed his grip on Kili's wrists, sitting back and watching him carefully. Kili lay limp and shaking, and did not try to move his arms back to his sides, let alone attack either of them. Fili grunted and climbed off his brother, sliding back to sit at the foot of the bed, but Kili did not move at all, but lay exactly where Fili had left him.

Bilbo sat up. “Help me with him,” he said to Fili, and together the two of them hauled the little dwarf into a sitting position and then off the bed entirely. Bilbo guided them to the window, and, after checking to see if the streets were empty of passers-by -- and they were, for it was the quietest time of the night, about two hours before dawn -- he threw it open and let the chill autumn air flow across their faces.

“Look,” he said to Kili, and pointed out of the window. “There is the sky. There are the stars. You are safe with us, Kili. You are safe.”

Shudders still rocked Kili's shoulders, but Bilbo thought that perhaps they had subsided a little, and the little dwarf stared intently at the sky and twisted his fingers in Bilbo's sleeve. On his other side, Fili made wordless soothing noises, and Bilbo rested his head against the window-frame and knew that they would have no more sleep that night.

\----

The next morning, food and clothes arrived by the bundle, brought to the street door by surly porters who were not permitted even to set foot on the stairs. Bilbo heard their protests drifting up to the common room, and Dwalin's growl silencing them.

The dwarves all took a part in carrying the supplies up the narrow staircase, with the exception of Kili, of course, who had found himself a dimly-lit alcove beside the hearth and seemed content to stay there, watching the dwarves coming and going with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. When the bundles were all ferried in and the street door locked and bolted, they unwrapped everything and grimaced at each other, for all the clothes were of course far too large for them.

“We'll be asking for needles and thread, then,” Dori said. 

“Aye, and scissors,” Bofur added. “Useful for sewing, useful for stabbing unwanted visitors. Can't go wrong with scissors.” He winked at Kili, and Kili frowned and ducked his head, but peered up at Bofur from under his hair. Bofur just grinned.

“Ori wants paper and something to draw with,” Fili said. He was holding a green tunic, which came almost to the floor on him, and eyeing it critically. Bilbo did remember that Ori had spent many evening hours in the early part of their journey sketching by the light of the fire, although if he remembered correctly all the paper had been ruined when one of the ponies had got into the river and soaked the supplies it was carrying. Still, Ori now looked rather confused.

“Do I?” he asked, and Fili glanced over at him.

“Of course you do,” he said, as if there was no other possibility.

“Well, I mean,” Ori said, ducking his head a little. “It would be nice. If you think they wouldn't mind.”

“They wouldn't,” said Fili firmly, and then looked at Balin. “We should make a list.”

“Already started it, laddie,” Balin said, and indeed he was scribbling away on something. “Paper,” he muttered. 

“Pipes,” said Fili absently. “We need pipes. And pipe-weed to go in them.” He dropped the tunic he was holding and starting rifling through the bundle of clothes, finally pulling out a sturdy coat that was twice the size of a dwarf and glaring at it as if it had dealt him a personal insult. “Thirteen,” he said then, with an edge of anger in his voice, and all turned to look at him.

“Thirteen what?” Bofur asked.

“Thirteen of everything,” Fili said. “They've sent us thirteen of everything.”

The room fell silent for a moment, and then Thorin spoke from where he stood by the door to the stairs.

“We cannot ask them to send clothes for Kili,” he said. 

Fili's head snapped up, and he looked for a moment as if he would tear the coat he held in his hands. But then he scowled down at it and dropped it back into the bundle.

“I know we cannot,” he said, and stalked out of the room.

There was another silence, and Bilbo found himself clearing his throat. “He can have my clothes,” he said. “I still have most of the ones I brought with me, and the ones they sent will all be far too large on me anyway.”

Thorin nodded at him. “Thank you, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “Although I am afraid we cannot dress him in them until we leave. We cannot risk one of them seeing him through the window.”

“It's not fair,” muttered Ori, and then squeaked as Dori nudged him hard. But Thorin did not seem angered by his comment, and only sighed and stared sombrely across the room at his nephew.

“No,” he said. “It is not.”

\----

The sewing supplies arrived around mid-morning, and soon most of the dwarves were busy measuring, cutting and stitching with surprisingly nimble fingers. Ori's paper arrived, too, and after a whispered conversation with Fili, he sat down and began sketching industriously. Bilbo, who had no clothes to make for himself, decided to take the opportunity of a peaceful morning in what seemed for now at least to be a safe place to continue Kili's education in earnest, for, he reasoned, the faster the little dwarf could begin to make himself properly understood, the fewer their problems would become. He took a low stool and sat opposite Kili by the hearth, patting his knee and smiling at him. 

“Time to learn some hobbit-speech,” he said.

Kili sat up a little straighter. “Yes,” he said. “Learn hobbit-speak.”

“Good,” said Bilbo, “now where were we?” He glanced around and picked up a scrap of fabric from the table, holding it up so Kili could see it. “ _Blue_ ,” he said.

\----

They had been through every colour Bilbo could think of, and all the numbers from one to twenty, and Bilbo was just considering moving on to something more complicated when Kili suddenly bowed his head, and he looked round to see that Thorin had seated himself on the bench just behind him. He raised his eyebrows, but Thorin said nothing, merely nodded at the two of them.

“I'm sorry,” Bilbo said, “was there something you wanted to ask me?”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “I merely wish to observe,” he said. “I have heard you are an excellent teacher, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo flushed despite himself, and glanced at Kili, who of course had fixed his eyes on the floor. He opened his mouth, trying to think of a polite way to explain to Thorin that his presence would make Kili nervous and therefore slow everything down immensely, but Thorin was watching him closely and Bilbo realised that of course he already knew that, of course he knew that he scared Kili. And of course he wanted to find a way to make that right, and of course it would not be easy, not easy at all, for any of them.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, and then cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.” He turned back to Kili and tried his best to ignore Thorin's looming presence at his elbow (and how the dwarf could manage to loom while seated, he had no idea). “Now, then,” he said, and gently tipped Kili's chin up. Kili's eyes flicked to him, and back to the floor, and Bilbo sighed.

“Kili,” he said. “Look at me. Look. You know look?” He pointed to his eyes, and then waved a hand across Kili's line of sight. “Look,” he said.

Kili lifted his eyes to Bilbo's face, then glanced nervously sideways at Thorin. “No,” said Bilbo. “Don't look at him. Look at me.” He pointed to his eyes and then to Kili's. “Look.”

“Look,” muttered Kili, but he dutifully returned his gaze to Bilbo. 

“Good,” Bilbo said. “Now listen.” He glanced around, and picked up a butter knife from the table. “This is _my_ knife,” he said. “Do you remember _my_?” It was something of a risk, for they had last discussed such things in the elvish dungeon, and Bilbo did not want to bring back bad memories, but he wanted to finish that task before Kili forgot it entirely, as well. 

“Knife,” Kili said.

“My knife,” Bilbo said. “It's time we started using more words, my lad. This is my knife.”

“He my knife,” Kili said, and then frowned hard enough that Bilbo waited and did not correct him. “He you knife,” he said finally, and looked from the knife to Bilbo. “Yes? She you knife?”

Bilbo smiled broadly and clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent!” he said. “But it is your. _Your_.”

“Your,” said Kili. “Yes, yes, forgot. Your knife.” He looked a little puzzled, and Bilbo realised that he did not seem nervous any more, as if he had forgotten entirely that Thorin was there. “Knife is he, knife is she?”

“Knife is _it_ ,” Bilbo said. 

“It?” Kili frowned. “What it?”

“There are three words,” Bilbo said. “He, she, and it.”

Kili looked disbelieving, and then somewhat outraged. “Why three?” he asked. “Not need three, three many.”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo said, although the look on Kili's face had him stifling a chuckle. He leaned forward and patted Kili's knee. “Let's not worry about the three words right now,” he said. “What if I give the knife to you?” 

He held the knife out, and Kili scowled at it for a moment.

“Not need three,” he muttered, and then took the knife and contemplated it for a moment.

“My knife?” he said.

“Good!” said Bilbo, and he heard a surprised huff of air behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Thorin watching Kili intently, and there was a look on his face which Bilbo could not decipher at all, but which was certainly nothing he had ever seen there before. He cleared his throat and turned back to Kili.

“Now,” he said, and considered how to proceed. The obvious choice was _his knife_ , but that brought them right back to _he, she_ and _it_ , and Bilbo did not want to bog them down in such intricacies just yet. So he took the knife from Kili's hands, considered for a moment if the plan that was forming in his mind was merely a surefire route to disaster, and then threw caution to the winds and held out the knife to Thorin. Thorin raised a surprised eyebrow at him, but when Bilbo shook the knife a little, he took it and held it before him where Kili could see.

Bilbo turned back to Kili to see that he was staring at the floor again. “No,” Bilbo said. “Look. Look at me.” He shook Kili's arm a little, and Kili reluctantly raised his eyes.

“Look,” he said. “I'm look.”

“Good,” said Bilbo, and then he pointed at Thorin. “Thorin's knife.”

Kili's eyes darted to Thorin and then away, and he hunched his shoulders and did not speak. Bilbo shook his arm again. “Come on, now,” he said. “When someone else has the knife, we add an _s_. Thorin's knife.”

Kili muttered something, but his head was down and he spoke too quietly for Bilbo to hear. “I didn't hear that, master dwarf,” Bilbo said, and raised Kili's chin with his fingertips. “What did you say?”

“Thorin knife,” whispered Kili, then looked up at Bilbo. 

“Thorin's knife,” Bilbo said. “With an _s_.”

“Thorin's knife,” said Kili, and his eyes flicked to the knife in Thorin's hands. “Thorin's knife.”

“Yes!” said Bilbo, and turned to smile at Thorin. But Thorin had no eyes for anyone but his nephew, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and face serious, offering the knife to Kili.

“Your knife, Kili,” he said, his voice low and gentle.

Kili did not reply, nor did he move to take the knife. Bilbo nudged him. “He is offering you a gift,” he said. “It would be quite rude of you not to take it.”

Kili stared at Bilbo, then at the floor, then at Bilbo again. Bilbo smiled and nodded, pointing to the knife. Thorin did not move, nor did he take his eyes from Kili, and after a moment, Kili looked him briefly in the face and half-snatched the knife from his hands, flexing his fist around it and curling up on himself a little.

“My knife,” he whispered.

And Thorin smiled.

\----

Ori finished whatever he was drawing just after lunch -- and oh, how delightful it was to have proper mealtimes again! -- and called Fili over, handing it to him with a shy smile. Fili looked at the paper and smiled back.

“It's perfect,” he said, and then strode over to Kili's corner, where Bilbo was telling Kili about the best time of year to plant petunias just so the little dwarf would have something to listen to.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the paper into Bilbo's hands.

Bilbo stared down at it. It was a picture of a dwarf Bilbo had never seen before -- beautifully drawn and quite true to life, especially considering the short amount of time Ori had had to work on it. The dwarf had long dark hair and a luxuriant beard, and he wore a great coat with a fur collar, rather like Fili's.

“Well, that is very good,” Bilbo said. “You have a rare talent, Master Ori.”

“Thank you!” said Ori, who had followed Fili over. 

“Yes, yes,” Fili said, “but it will help him, will it not?”

Bilbo glanced at Kili, then back at the drawing. “Well, he has rather a lot of live dwarves to look at already,” he said. “I'm not sure--” 

“But with the difference between _he_ and _she_ ,” Fili said impatiently. “He has no dwarf women to look at, after all.”

“But--” Bilbo started, and frowned down at the picture. “But this is surely not a she-dwarf?” he said hesitantly, and then wished he had bitten his tongue instead when Fili suddenly looked quite offended. 

“You astonish me, Mr. Baggins!” he said. “It is the most beautiful she-dwarf in the Blue Mountains!” And he snatched the paper from Bilbo's hands.

“Well, I'm sure I didn't mean any insult, it's just--” Bilbo started, but Ori tugged at his sleeve.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said, “I wouldn't say anything else if I were you.” He nodded at the paper. “It's their mother,” he whispered.

“Oh!” said Bilbo, and then shut his mouth with a snap, for he did not trust himself not to completely put his foot in it. Fili gave him an exasperated look, and then dragged up a stool himself and held out the drawing to Kili.

“Do you know who this is?” he asked, and he sounded quite calm, but his hands shook ever so slightly where they lay on his knees.

Kili looked at the picture, and then raised his hand and ran a finger across it with a wondering look. Bilbo held his breath, and beside him Fili leaned eagerly forward and clenched his hands around his knees.

“Dwarf,” Kili breathed, and then looked up at Bilbo and showed him the picture. “Hobbit look,” he said, sounding amazed. “Make dwarf, look!”

Fili's shoulders slumped, and Bilbo gave his arm a squeeze. “Yes,” he said to Kili. “It's a picture. _Picture_.”

“Pitcher,” Kili said, still staring at it. 

“Close enough,” said Bilbo. “Ori drew it.” He pointed to Ori, and Kili turned to him, eyes wide.

“Ori make?” he said.

“Yes, I did,” Ori said, looking rather pleased. “I can make you another one if you want.”

Kili turned back to the picture and stared at it. “Dwarf,” he said. “Like dwarf, like--” he shook his head. “Not can word,” he said. “Is good.”

“Kili,” Fili said hoarsely, and then cleared his throat. “It is a she-dwarf.” He pointed at the picture. “She,” he said, and then pointed at himself. “He.”

“She,” Kili said thoughtfully, not looking up from the picture. “She-dwarf.”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, although he was still rather confused about how anyone was supposed to be able to tell the difference between he- and she-dwarves. “Do you see now? Do you understand?”

Kili frowned. “Not know,” he said. “Think understand, think not understand.”

“Maybe if you draw him something easier,” Bilbo said to Ori. “A hobbit lass, for example.” 

Ori frowned. “I don't think I've ever seen a hobbit lass, Mr. Baggins,” he said. 

“There must have been some when you were passing through the Shire!” Bilbo said. “They are as many as the lads, unlike with dwarves.”

“I don't remember,” Ori said. “Maybe they look too similar to hobbit lads and so I didn't notice them?”

Bilbo spluttered at that, and Ori cheerfully thumped him on the back and asked if he was choking. Then he announced he would draw some humans, and stood up to go. Kili quickly held the picture up to him, and Ori smiled.

“Keep it,” he said. “I drew it for you.”

Kili shook his head. “Not understand,” he said. “Ori pitcher.” He paused. “Ori's pitcher.”

“I'm giving it to you,” Ori said. “It's your picture now.” He hesitated, then pushed Kili's hands gently back down. “Your picture.”

Kili blinked, and then looked at Bilbo in confusion. Bilbo pointed at him. “Your picture,” he said. “Do you understand?”

Kili's eyes grew huge, then, and he pulled the picture back in towards himself, hesitantly, as if he was afraid someone might snatch it away. “My pitcher?” he said.

Bilbo nodded firmly. “Your picture.”

Kili laid the paper on his lap and ran his fingers reverently over the image.

“My pitcher,” he whispered.

\----

Towards mid-afternoon, Bifur appeared at Kili's alcove, signing to him in _iglishmêk_. Kili was hesitant at first, but he soon seemed to remember both the dwarf and some of the signs, and Bilbo took his leave of them both, in truth somewhat relieved, for there was only so long that even a hobbit could keep up a constant stream of chatter without getting rather tired of the sound of his own voice, and as much as he enjoyed finally having a roof over his head again, the sheer number of dwarves was beginning to make him feel a little claustrophobic. He went down the stairs to the street door, and found Dwalin outside, leaning casually against the wall and smoking his pipe.

“Good afternoon,” Bilbo said, and Dwalin considered him.

“Aye,” he said. “Good enough.”

“Have you been to see the town?” Bilbo asked. 

Dwalin took his pipe from his mouth and spat on the walkway. “I'm not interested in going to see the town,” he said. “I'm interested in making sure none of the town comes to see us.” He glanced meaningfully at the door, and then stuck his pipe back in his mouth. 

“Ah,” said Bilbo. “Well -- I suppose you won't mind if I go and have a look? Thorin has not forbidden it, has he?”

“No, he has not,” Dwalin said. He gave Bilbo a hard look. “Don't get into any trouble.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” said Bilbo, and hurried away, trying to appear less nervous than he felt.

A light rain was falling, and the town seemed rather dreary in the grey light, the walkways wet and slippery, and the air filled with the smoke of cooking fires and the reek of fish guts. Bilbo slipped through the streets, staying well away from the edges of the walkways and from any boats he happened to pass, and was glad that it had been dark when they had marched through the night before, for Kili would surely have been quite unhappy if he had seen all this water. As it was, up in the cosy common room one could quite forget that the entire town was built on the lake. A ridiculous notion, indeed! Big Folk were quite inscrutable.

He found himself at last on a great landing stage, and although he of course stayed well away from the edge, he did not hurry away, but paused in his steps, for from here the Lonely Mountain dominated the view, its great, snow-covered peak half lost in cloud. He had not seen it in daylight since he had climbed the tree in Mirkwood, and that seemed half a lifetime ago now.

“Excuse me, mister,” said a voice behind him, and he turned to see a girl, quite young, he thought, though she was taller than him, and with fine blonde hair. “Are you a dwarf?” she asked.

“Not at all!” Bilbo replied. “I am a hobbit. Bilbo Baggins, at your service!” And he bowed, and then considered that in fact his manner of greeting seemed to have become rather dwarvish.

The girl smiled at him and curtseyed. “My Da told me you were all dwarves, except for the little goblin,” she said. “I've never seen a dwarf before.”

“And you have not seen one now!” Bilbo said smartly. “But we do not have a goblin, either.” He knew it was probably best not to talk about Kili -- in fact, it was probably best not to talk to anyone about anything at all -- but he could not bear to hear him called such things, not after everything that had happened with the elves.

“Kjartan told me he saw a goblin,” the girl insisted. “Said it had huge fangs and big red eyes.”

“I see,” said Bilbo. “And is Kjartan usually right about things?”

The girl thought about this for a moment, then shook her head solemnly. “No,” she said. “He's usually lying.”

“Well, then,” Bilbo said. “We certainly would not bring a goblin into your town! Why, who knows how much damage that might cause?”

“Kjartan said it would murder us all in our beds, and then eat us,” the girl said, and then frowned. “I suppose he was lying about that, too.”

“Well, a real goblin might do that,” Bilbo said. “But not everything that seems like a goblin is one.”

“My Da says you shouldn't judge someone by what they look like,” the girl announced.

“Your Da is a wise man,” Bilbo told her, and then turned his head at a shout from the other side of the landing stage. 

“Tilda! There you are!” 

It was an older girl, but similar enough in looks to the younger that it was clear they were related. She hurried up to Bilbo and took the younger one -- Tilda, Bilbo supposed -- by the arm.

“I'm sorry, master dwarf,” she said. “I hope my sister wasn't bothering you.”

“He's not a dwarf, he's a bobbit,” Tilda said. “And he said that there isn't a goblin, neither.”

“Well, that's exactly what Da said,” said the older girl. “Now come on, you, we've a lot to do before he gets home.” She bobbed a curtsey at Bilbo. “I'm sorry to bother you, master bobbit,” she said, and hurried her sister away. Tilda turned just before they disappeared around a corner and waved, and Bilbo smiled and waved back.

“Bobbit, indeed,” he muttered, turning back to gaze at the Lonely Mountain again, but he felt lighter in the heart to know that not all the children of this gloomy town were so quick to plan the murder of those they did not even know.

\----

When Bilbo returned to the house, nodding at Dwalin on the way past, he found that Ori was just putting the finishing touches to another sketch, his hand curled around the paper as if protecting it. He sat down next to him and smiled.

“Can I see?” he asked. “Is it a human, or an elf?”

Ori drew in a few more strokes. “Neither,” he said. “Fili asked me to do something else.” He examined the paper critically, and then uncurled his hand. “I could do a better one if I had a bit longer,” he said, and passed the drawing to Bilbo.

Bilbo looked down at it curiously. It was a picture of two dwarves, one very obviously Fili, though younger, with nothing but a scruff of beard on his chin. He was smirking around a pipe and had his arm slung around the shoulders of the second dwarf, who was laughing uproariously, head thrown back as though without a care in the world. Bilbo frowned at this second dwarf for a moment, trying to place him, before everything fell into place and he felt his eyes grow round.

“Kili,” he whispered.

“It's not very good,” Ori muttered, but Bilbo shook his head.

“No, no,” he said. “It looks exactly like him, just--” He stared at the laughing face, and it felt like he was seeing a ghost. “Just not like him at all,” he finished.

“Well, would you look at that?” Bofur said, glancing over the picture as he passed by and then stopping in his tracks. “That's a lovely bit of work, there, Ori lad. You should've done one sooner, given it to his mother.”

Ori flushed a little. “Well, it's easier now I've got him here,” he said. “I'd -- I'd sort of forgotten what he looked like.” He sounded a little ashamed, and Bofur put a hand on his shoulder.

“There are worse things you could've forgotten,” he said, and then turned. “Here, Bombur, take a look at this!”

In no time at all, all the dwarves in the house -- which was all except Thorin, Dwalin and Balin -- were crowded around the picture, telling Ori how good it was until he was bright red and beaming with pride. Fili was silent, though, until finally Ori looked up and held it out to him.

“Is it all right?” he said.

Fili wiped a hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. “It's exactly what I wanted,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you.” 

He took the drawing from Ori and started walking towards the alcove where Kili still sat. Bilbo trotted after him, and the other dwarves all watched in silence, until Fili turned to scowl at them.

“I'm sure you all have business to attend to,” he said. Bombur coughed and said something about dinner, and the dwarves rapidly scattered, talking amongst themselves a little too loudly and jovially, though none of them left the room and all of them kept sneaking glances towards the alcove.

Fili sat down on his stool and waited till Bilbo was sitting beside him before he addressed Kili.

“I have another drawing for you, brother,” he said, and then glanced at Bilbo with something like fear in his eyes. Bilbo nodded at him, and Fili hesitantly held the paper out.

“Pitcher,” said Kili eagerly, and took the paper, turning it quickly so he could see what was on it. He looked down at it, stroking the image with his fingertips. “Dwarfs,” he said. “Fili.” He looked up at Fili, and Fili nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “that is me.”

“Yes,” said Kili. “Is you. Ori make?”

“Yes, Ori drew it,” Fili said. “Kili, do you know the other dwarf?”

Kili looked up at him. “Dwarf?” he said.

Fili leaned over and tapped the drawing of Kili's laughing face. “Who is this?” he said. “Do you know this dwarf?”

Kili stared at the picture, and then frowned, looking around at the assembled company and then back at the picture. “Not know,” he decided finally. 

Fili looked disappointed, but not surprised. “Mr. Baggins,” he said, “I will be back in just a moment.” And he stood and strode away.

Kili watched him go, then looked back down at the picture. “Good pitcher,” he said. “Hobbit know make pitcher?”

“I'm afraid not,” Bilbo laughed. “Everything I draw turns out looking like an oliphaunt, except when I want to draw an oliphaunt, and then it looks like a pony with three broken legs.”

Kili did not even seem to be listening to him, too busy staring at the picture. Bilbo decided he would get Ori to draw an oliphaunt, for he felt for some reason that such a word was a vital part of any well-rounded vocabulary.

Fili returned then, and sat down on his stool again. “Are you sure you do not know this dwarf?” he said to Kili, and pointed to the picture.

Kili shook his head and looked up at Fili. “Not know,” he said. “Who dwarf?”

Fili smiled a crooked smile. “It is my brother,” he said, and Kili went suddenly still.

“Brother?” he said.

“Yes,” Fili said. “It is my brother Kili.”

Kili stared at him for long enough that Bilbo became aware that complete silence had fallen on the room. Then he looked quickly down at the picture, running his fingers over the face of the laughing dwarf, before looking back up at Fili.

“Kili Fili brother,” he said. “Fili's brother.”

“Yes,” said Fili. “Kili is my brother.” He tapped the picture. “Fili and Kili,” he said, and then he drew a small mirror from under his shirt and held it out. “Look,” he said.

Kili took the mirror with some hesitation and then looked at Bilbo. Bilbo nodded and smiled, and Kili glanced in the mirror quickly, and then looked more closely, frowning at his reflection. He looked at the picture, then, frown deepening, and then back the mirror, running a cautious finger over his nose. Turning back to the picture, he touched his fingertips to the nose of the laughing dwarf and then raised his eyes to Fili, huge and round.

“Kili Fili's brother,” he said.

“Yes,” said Fili, his voice catching. “Yes, yes. Kili is my brother.”


	22. Chapter 22

Dinner that night was a much more pleasant affair than it had been the previous evening, with the dwarves loud and jovial and no dignitaries to sniff over Fili's manners or Kili's mere existence. There was room enough and to spare around the great table for everyone, although it was of course too high off the ground, and everyone found themselves with their legs dangling from the benches. Bombur had cooked up a feast with the food that had been sent to them, and although the food was probably not as fine as what they had had the night before, it was certainly more comforting and much less fussy. 

They were all about to begin eating when Thorin suddenly stood, scraping back his chair and causing silence to fall across the company. He strode from his place at the head of the table over to the alcove where Kili still sat, alternately staring at his pictures and eyeing the food. At Thorin's approach, Kili's head dropped, and he sat very still.

Thorin stopped in front of his nephew and regarded him for a moment. Then, as if he was looking at Kili's face rather than the top of his head, he said, “Kili, I would have you join us for dinner.”

Kili did not respond, and Thorin turned to Bilbo, where he was sitting at the end of the table closest to the alcove. “Mr. Baggins?” he said.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Bilbo asked. 

“Perhaps not,” Thorin said. “But he is not a slave, and he should not be eating in the corner like a dog begging scraps from the table.”

Bilbo exchanged a glance with Fili, who looked concerned but did not voice any opposition. And in truth, Thorin was right -- if they were to convince Kili that he was truly a part of the company and not a _snaga_ , it made sense to try and include him a little more. And he had exchanged words with a number of the dwarves that day -- not just Fili and Thorin, but Ori and Bifur and even briefly Bofur. Maybe it was time to take things a step further.

“We can try, I suppose,” Bilbo said. 

“That is all I ask,” said Thorin, and then turned. “Make some space for my nephew and Mr. Baggins,” he called to the dwarves sitting near the head of the table, and they quickly shuffled down a few spaces. Bilbo got to his feet and took Kili by the arm.

“We're going to sit at the table,” he said, tugging the little dwarf to his feet. “I'd tell you to mind your manners, but to be honest I think you will fit right in.” 

Kili followed Bilbo without resistance, though his head remained bowed, and made no complaint when Bilbo settled him on the bench at Thorin's left hand, with Fili opposite him. Bilbo slipped in between Kili and Bofur, who grinned down at him.

“Can you even see what there is to eat, lad?” he said. “There's chicken in the middle, I'll reach some for you. Kili, do you want some chicken?”

Kili did not respond, and Bofur shrugged and reached over, grabbing his plate and filling it with generous amounts of chicken and potatoes, then dropped it back in front of him. He winked at Bilbo. “That should do the trick,” he said. “Always loved chicken, that one.”

But Kili did not move to touch the food, or even make any acknowledgement that he knew it was there. He sat with his head bowed and his shoulders rigid with tension, his hands clenched in his lap.

“Kili,” Bilbo said gently, and patted his arm. “Will you eat something? You must be hungry.”

Kili did not respond, and Bilbo looked up to see Fili give him a worried frown.

“I don't know,” Bilbo said. “Maybe if we just let him get used to it.” He glanced at Thorin, who was watching Kili intently. “And maybe you could stop staring at him,” he said, a little more sharply than he'd intended. “I'm quite sure that's not helping.”

Thorin shot him a glare, but then turned back to his own food and, after a moment's contemplation, began a conversation with Fili and Dwalin, who sat on Fili's other side. Bilbo didn't know what they were talking about, and it seemed to him that they weren't quite clear about it, either, for every time he listened to a snatch or two it seemed as if they were not even listening to each other's replies. But they were also not staring at Kili, and that was really all that Bilbo cared about.

“Come now,” he said, after giving Kili a few more minutes to become accustomed to the surroundings. “Chicken. I don't think you've had chicken before, have you? Not that you remember, anyway.” He considered trying to feed Kili, but he had not done that since their first night in the wildlands, when Kili had been tied up, and the only people who had done it recently had been the elves -- and here Bilbo paused in his thoughts to shudder and be grateful that they were no longer trapped in Mirkwood -- and he certainly did not want this attempt at civilised eating (as far as such a thing was possible among dwarves) to be tainted with such associations. So he merely encouraged Kili as much as he could, until Gloin, halfway down the table, slammed his tankard down and laughed loudly at something Nori had said, and Kili started and glanced quickly over his shoulder, then hunched down into himself as if trying to become as small as possible.

“Uncle,” said Fili, and Bilbo looked up to see both Fili and Thorin (and Dwalin, for that matter) frowning at Kili, for apparently they had been managing to pay attention to him even without looking at him.

“I saw it,” Thorin said. “It seems you were right, Mr. Baggins. This was not the right time.”

“I'm sorry,” Bilbo said. “I don't think he likes not having anything at his back.”

Thorin nodded, and Bilbo scrambled off the back of the bench and took Kili by the arm.

“Come on, then,” he said, feeling quite relieved, and Kili slipped off the bench easily enough and followed him, head still down, back to the alcove. 

\----

After dinner, there was peace. Not peace in the way that a hobbit or an elf might have imagined it, perhaps, for there was still a great deal of noise, but peace in a way that Bilbo had not felt since the night before they stepped into Mirkwood, a peace of dwarves smoking and braiding each other's hair and laughing loudly at their ridiculous jokes, with no fear of what might come for them in the night and no weighty sense of foreboding dampening their spirits. Soon enough, Bilbo knew, they would have to leave the confines of their little wooden sanctuary and travel onward, but he was grateful for the respite, for as long as it might last. He sat beside Bofur for a while and listened to his cheerful chatter, without contributing much himself and in fact rather pleased at the opportunity to listen rather than talk, for he had spent most of his day with Kili, and he felt obliged to always be speaking to the little dwarf so he should have the chance to hear as much Common as possible, and so that he should not slip into silence that might remind him of the elvish dungeon. After some time, though, he looked over to the alcove to find that Kili's head was nodding on his chest, and he took his leave of Bofur.

“Wake up, my lad,” he said, shaking Kili's shoulder gently. Kili opened his eyes and blinked sleepily at Bilbo, and Bilbo smiled at him. “You have a bed upstairs,” he said. “A bed with a pillow! Do you not want to sleep up there?”

Kili stared at him, and Bilbo pointed at the ceiling. “Upstairs!” he said. Kili followed his finger and stared at the ceiling himself, and Bilbo sighed. He could just take Kili by the arm and have him follow, he supposed, but he had the nagging feeling that Kili had not in fact gone anywhere of his own free will since before the elves (and even then, he had very rarely done so), and that did not sit right with him. He sat down on the little stool and put his hands on his knees.

“Kili,” he said. “Do you want to go upstairs and sleep?” This time, he pointed to the door that led to the stairs, hoping that it might get his point across more clearly. “Upstairs,” he said. “Sleep.”

“Sleep,” Kili said. “Yes.” He stared at Bilbo, as if waiting for something. Bilbo nodded.

“Well, you should go, then,” he said. “You don't need to wait for me to take you. You can go where you want, you're free. Can go.”

Kili nodded. “Can go,” he said, and then seemed to be waiting again. Bilbo gave an exasperated sigh, and then counted to five. He was rather tired himself, and he again considered simply manhandling Kili out of the room, and again rejected it.

“Kili,” he said. “Do you _want_ to go to bed?” He tried to speak gently, but something of his frustration bled through, and Kili suddenly looked worried.

“Want go, not want go,” he said. “Which?”

“No,” Bilbo said, “what do _you_ want?” He pointed firmly at Kili, and Kili almost flinched.

“Not know,” he said. “Not understand. Which?”

Bilbo felt suddenly rather sick, the feeling of peacefulness gone now, replaced with a sense that, no matter how much progress they had made that day -- and they had made so much, more than Bilbo could have imagined was possible in such a short time -- there were still many, many miles to go. He closed his eyes a moment, and then opened them, standing up and taking Kili's arm.

“Come on, then,” he said, feeling defeated. “Bed for you.”

\----

When they reached the bedroom, Bilbo sat Kili on the bed and took hold of the pictures he still held in his hand. Kili tightened his grip on them for just a moment, then released it, and Bilbo patted his shoulder and laid them on the table.

“I wonder if we can get you some cleaner clothes to sleep in?” he pondered, examining the undershirt and breeches that seemed to wear half of Mirkwood on them. “We could make something out of a sheet, perhaps?”

Kili said nothing in response -- not that Bilbo really expected him to -- but when Bilbo looked at him he was not even paying attention, his eyes fixed on the table. 

“Kili?” said Bilbo. “Are you all right?” 

Kili's eyes flicked to him, then back to the table, and finally to his knees. “Hobbit's pitcher,” he muttered.

“I don't have a picture,” Bilbo said, and then realisation dawned. “Oh! Oh, no, Kili,” he said, and he turned to pick up the pictures and thrust them at Kili. “They are still your pictures, I only thought you shouldn't sleep with them in your hand!”

Kili looked up at him doubtfully. “Hobbit's pitcher?” he said.

“Your pictures,” Bilbo said firmly. “Yours.” 

Still Kili did not reach to take the pictures, and Bilbo looked around and saw a narrow shelf running along the wall above the foot of the bed. He clambered up onto the bed and carefully propped the pictures on the shelf.

“There,” he said, turning back to Kili and pointing. “Now you can look at them all night, if you want to. They are your pictures. They are yours for as long as you want them.”

“My pitcher?” Kili said.

“Your pitcher,” Bilbo said. “I mean, pictures. _Pictures_.”

“Pitchers,” said Kili, and stared at them where they sat on the shelf, then wriggled his way backwards so that he was sitting in the corner between the headboard and the wall, all without breaking eye contact with the pictures.

Bilbo was about to ask him to lie down when Kili suddenly turned to him with a serious expression.

“Hobbit learn hand-speak,” he said. 

Well. Bilbo sat down on the edge of the bed and felt a slightly dizzying sense of history repeating itself. “Kili,” he said, “I have told you and told you, the dwarves do not want me to learn hand-speak.”

Kili shook his head. “Elves punish,” he said, “ _Khozd shrakhun_ in room, make not speak, _golug danojuzutizish_ , hobbit not speak hand-speak, not can speak. _Ghashnuzizg_ hobbit, not _daggog_.”

Bilbo gaped at him. Kili was breathing hard, and he looked -- well, he looked frightened, though Bilbo could not tell if it was fear of Bilbo himself or remembered fear of the dungeons. He shook his head, but before he could say anything, Kili was speaking again.

“ _Khozd shrakhun_ not speak dwarfs,” he said. “Not, not _ghashnubizgul_ , I'm not speak, you're not speak, dwarfs not know. Learn hand-speak, dwarfs not know.”

“I--” Bilbo started, another refusal ready on his tongue, but in all honesty he agreed wholeheartedly with Kili. There was a sick twist in his stomach as he remembered standing in the tunnel peering in at Kili through the grating in the cell door, the frightful sight of the gag in his mouth and his fingers speaking but Bilbo unable to understand. All because of ridiculous dwarven stubbornness! And what if they should be put in just such another situation? After all, Bilbo was still the only one with a magic ring, and Kili was still the one who condemned himself in the eyes of almost everyone purely by accidentally speaking the wrong language. And more than anything, Kili looked at him now with something akin to desperate pleading, and he had not asked for anything, not anything since Bilbo had known him.

Bilbo turned to face him on the bed. “You must never tell the dwarves,” he said. “Never, do you understand? _Kurr_ speak dwarves.”

A hopeful look spread across Kili's face. “ _Kurr ghashnubizgul_ ,” he said. “Never speak. Dwarfs punish, not speak. Dwarfs kill, not speak.” He nodded vigorously and performed a terrifyingly realistic mime of slitting his own throat.

“Well, that might be taking it a bit far,” muttered Bilbo, but it occurred to him that if anyone knew how to keep a secret under the worst of circumstances, it was most probably Kili. Immediately after that, it occurred to him to wonder what other secrets Kili might be keeping, but he firmly pushed that thought from his mind and raised his hands.

“Where do we begin?” he asked.

\----

Bilbo learned four signs -- _good_ , _bad_ , _dwarf_ and the sign that meant the speaker was asking a question -- before giving up for the night, for he had been tired when they started, and the _iglishmêk_ was surprisingly complex, slight twitches of the fingers apparently entirely changing the meaning of the words. Indeed, Bilbo found it somewhat difficult to imagine how Bifur had managed to explain some of this to Kili, even with Fili's help, for Kili had certainly been forced to give up on at least two signs when his Common was not up to the task of telling Bilbo what they meant. When Bilbo sat back and said, “Can we stop now?” Kili nodded and patted his knee.

“Hobbit very good,” he said. “Learn many.”

“Well, I'm afraid I speak it like a potato,” Bilbo said. “But I will try and improve.”

“Not potato,” Kili said in a reassuring tone. “Speak like pony.”

“Pony?” Bilbo said. “Ponies don't even have fingers, how can they speak hand-speak?”

Kili shrugged and made a strange sort of mime that was apparently supposed to answer the question but looked to Bilbo like a dying bat, and then raised his head.

“Fili,” he said. 

Bilbo frowned, and then he, too, heard footsteps along the corridor, and a moment later the door opened and Fili stepped through.

“Hello, you're still up,” he said. “I thought you two would have been long abed.” 

“We're on our way,” Bilbo said, and turned back to Kili. “Time to sleep,” he said, and pointed to the bed. 

Kili nodded. “Sleep,” he said, and nestled himself further into the corner. 

“You should lie down,” Bilbo said. “You'll be much more comfortable.” 

Kili looked blank, and Bilbo patted the bed and peeled the covers back invitingly. “Lie down,” he said, and lay down himself, then pointed to himself and to Kili. “Lie down.”

“Sleep,” Kili said, looking confused. Bilbo nodded.

“Lie down,” he said. “Sleep.” He sat up and patted the bed again, pointing at the pillow and nodding with an enthusiasm that was not in the least feigned.

“I don't think he'll sleep,” Fili said behind him, and Bilbo turned to look at him.

“He fell asleep sitting up downstairs,” he said. “He's tired.”

“Exactly,” Fili said. “He fell asleep sitting up.”

Bilbo turned and frowned at Kili. “But there's a bed,” he said. “And pillows! Don't you want to sleep on a pillow, master dwarf?”

Kili gave him a look of incomprehension. “Want lie down, want sleep,” he said. “Which?”

Bilbo sighed. “It cannot be good for you, never lying down,” he said. “You look very uncomfortable.” And indeed it was true, for the edge of the headboard seemed to be digging into Kili's back, and he sat a little awkwardly in the space it formed with the wall.

“We should turn the bed,” Fili said then. Bilbo looked back at him to see he was eyeing the space thoughtfully. “If we turn it, we can push the corner of the mattress right up against the wall, and the headboard won't be in the way.”

Bilbo considered this. “We could just push it up against the other wall and have Kili sit in that corner,” he said, pointing to the corner by the door. “Do you want to sit in that corner, Kili?”

Kili looked worried, and Fili shook his head. “He wants to face the door,” he said. “It's what he always chooses.”

He was right, of course, and when Bilbo thought about it it was such a clear pattern that he was somewhat ashamed he had not noticed it himself. He took a moment to mourn for the luxuries of mattress and pillow and curse the orcs one more time -- and although it seemed almost petty to be cursing them for this after everything else that had happened, his anger was oddly vicious, surprising even himself -- then crawled across the bed and took Kili by the arm.

“Off,” he said. Kili looked utterly baffled, now, but he followed Bilbo easily enough, and Bilbo sat him on the other bed and then helped Fili as they grunted and pulled and shifted and -- after a great deal of awkwardness, for there was not really space in the room to turn the bed around -- succeeded in their aims, pushing the foot end of the bed up so that the corner of the mattress was pressed tight against the wall facing the door. Fili inspected it critically, then nodded. 

“Kili,” he said, and pointed to the corner. 

“Wait!” said Bilbo, and he crawled across the bed and took the two pillows, jamming them into the corner until it looked a little less like -- well, like sleeping sitting up against a wall. 

Kili eyed the corner. “Sleep?” he said, and pointed. 

“Sleep,” said Fili. Kili hopped off the bed he was sitting on and climbed up onto the other one, crawling to the corner and settling himself in. His eyelids were drooping almost immediately, and he was already asleep by the time Fili and Bilbo had finished adjusting the pillows and tucking the quilt around him. They sat back on their heels and exchanged glances.

“He'll have to learn to sleep properly one day,” Bilbo said.

Fili just shrugged and then glanced at the other bed.

“There's only one blanket now,” he said. “Do you mind if I share with you two?”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, Kili's not taking up much in the way of space, so I think there will be room for one more dwarf,” he said. 

And so they settled in, Bilbo curled up next to Kili and Fili on his other side. “Good night, my brother,” Fili said, before leaning over to blow out the candle.

Kili shifted a little in his sleep. “Brother,” he murmured, and the last thing Bilbo saw before darkness fell across the room was Fili's brilliant smile.

\----

In the morning, Bilbo found Ori sketching at the table in the common room, his head bowed over his work and the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth. He sat down next to him and tried to catch a glimpse of what he was working on, but Ori's arm was blocking his view.

“You're up early,” Bilbo said. Even Fili was still abed, though he had half woken when Bilbo and Kili had crawled past him to get to the door. Bilbo had had the best night's sleep since Beorn's or possibly even Rivendell, and felt immediately the difference in his mood. Kili, of course, had been awake long before anyone else, but seemed to have suffered no nightmares, and Bilbo was satisfied enough with that. 

“Couldn't sleep,” Ori said. “I wanted to get this finished.”

Bilbo craned to see again, and was again unsuccessful. He wondered if Ori was blocking his view on purpose. “I was wondering if you could draw me an oliphaunt,” he said.

“Add it to the list,” Ori muttered.

“List?” said Bilbo, and Ori's arm shot out, thrusting a piece of paper at Bilbo. Bilbo took it and saw it was indeed a list, a long one, that continued over both sides of the paper, the writing growing smaller and more cramped as it approached the bottom. Most of it was in dwarvish letters -- and they were not all written by the same hand, either, nor the same two or three or even five -- and to begin with the items were neatly numbered but soon they became rather higgledy-piggledy and seemed to have no sort of organisation.

“Oh,” said Bilbo. “Well, it looks like you have commissions enough and to spare, Master Ori, so I will not trouble you further.” He felt more disappointed than was really warranted, for what use would it be for Kili to know the word for oliphaunt, after all?

Ori gave him an apologetic look, then. “I've got to do two -- no, three -- for Fili,” he said. “But then I'll do yours straight after, I promise.”

“That is hardly fair,” Bilbo said. “It seems I have been rather late in requesting it, after all.”

“But Mr. Baggins,” said Ori, “of course you should get yours first. You're the one who looks after him.”

Bilbo sat up a little straighter and felt a pleased glow in his chest. He glanced over at Kili, who was sitting in his alcove, intently focussed on the pictures he had brought with him from the bedroom.

“Thank you,” he said. “How very kind.”

And before he went back to Kili, he wrote _oliphaunt_ in very tiny letters at the bottom of the list.

\----

Bilbo had not even had time to decide what he wanted to teach Kili that morning when Ori appeared at his shoulder, his new drawing held in his hands with the blank side outwards. “Hello, Kili,” he said, and then turned to Bilbo. “Do you think Fili will get up soon?”

“I imagine so,” Bilbo said. “He's not one for late mornings, is he?” He glanced at Kili, who was staring intently at the paper in Ori's hands. “Did you finish it?”

“Yes, but--” Ori chewed his lip. “I should wait for Fili, really.” He pressed the picture to his chest and started to turn away. 

Kili's face fell, and he dropped his eyes to his knees and scratched disconsolately at a mud-stain on his breeches. Ori gave Bilbo a pleading look, and Bilbo shrugged.

“I'm sure he will be up soon,” he said, aware that he could be making this all a little easier for Ori if he wanted to. But he didn't want to, for he was secretly almost as eager to see the new picture as Kili was.

“Oh,” Ori said, and then he sat down suddenly. “Oh, bother.” He held the picture out to Kili, and Kili snatched it immediately, turning it over with reverent fingers.

“Pitcher,” he said. “Good pitcher, Ori make good.”

Ori beamed, and Bilbo leaned over, trying to see the image.

“What's it a picture of, Kili?” he asked.

“Dwarfs,” said Kili, and showed Bilbo the picture. “Three dwarfs. Fili.”

The picture was indeed of Fili, and of Kili, too, both of them about the same age as they were in the picture Ori had drawn the day before. The third dwarf, Bilbo saw, was the she-dwarf from the first picture. Their mother, whose name he still did not know. She had one arm round Fili's shoulders and the other round Kili's, and she was pressing a kiss to Kili's cheek. Kili had his arm wrapped tightly around his mother's waist and was laughing at something, and Fili was looking at them both with a an expression that was halfway between a smirk and a fond smile.

“Oh, Ori,” Bilbo said. “How lovely.”

“Lovey,” Kili said, and took the picture back, stroking it. “Fili.”

“And who is that?” Bilbo asked, pointing to the image of Kili. “Do you remember who that is?” 

Kili hesitated, then looked at the picture of Fili and Kili from the previous day that he had laid beside him on the bench. He looked back at the new picture. “Is Kili?” he said.

“Yes,” Bilbo said warmly. “Fili and Kili. And what about the other dwarf? Who is he?”

“She,” Kili said immediately, then looked at Bilbo and frowned. “Is she, yes? She-dwarf?”

“You see, Mr. Baggins?” said Ori. “It's really very easy to tell the difference.”

Bilbo laughed. “If you say so,” he said. “But Kili, who is it? Do you know her?”

Kili frowned at the picture. “Yes, know,” he said, and dug out the first picture from the day before, showing it to Bilbo. “She,” he said.

Bilbo glanced at Ori, wondering if they really should wait for Fili, but Kili was looking up at him now with narrowed eyes. 

“Who dwarf?” he said. “Hobbit want I'm know dwarf. Who dwarf?”

Ori made a tiny noise of surprise, and Bilbo decided that they could hardly wait for Fili now. “It's your mother,” he said, and tapped the picture. “Do you remember _mother_?”

“Mother,” Kili said, looking back at the picture. “Yes, not forgot.” He stared at it for a moment, then frowned. “Fili's mother,” he said, pointing at the she-dwarf.

“Yes, Fili's mother,” Bilbo said, and then pointed at the image of Kili. “And Kili's mother. Fili and Kili's mother.”

Kili looked discontented at this, and Bilbo tapped the picture again. “Kili,” he said. “Kili's mother.”

“Kili's mother,” Kili muttered, but he did not lift his eyes from the picture, brushing his fingertips over the she-dwarf's face. 

The door to the stairs opened and closed, and Bilbo glanced around to see Fili striding towards them, eyes wide.

“Did you finish it?” he said to Ori, dropping down next to him. “What does he think?”

“I would have waited--” Ori started, but Fili was not even listening.

“Kili,” he said urgently, “who are the dwarves in the picture? Who are they?”

“Fili,” Kili said immediately. “Kili. Fili's mother.” He picked up the first picture of the she-dwarf and showed it to Fili. “Fili's mother,” he said.

“She isn't just Fili's mother, though, is she, my lad?” Bilbo prompted. “She's someone else's mother, too.”

Kili looked up at him, and then at Fili, who was leaning forward and watching Kili intently.

“Kili's mother,” he said finally, though he looked down and away from them both before he said it. He frowned at the new picture. “Mother,” he whispered.

“That's right, Kili,” Fili said. “Mother.”

Ori suddenly cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, and then was forced to stop and clear his throat again. “I've got a lot to be getting on with, so I'll just--” he made to stand, and Kili looked up sharply and hesitated a moment, then held out the picture to him.

“Good pitcher,” he said. “Good Ori, make good.”

Ori smiled at him. “It's your picture,” he said. “I'm giving it to you. Your picture.”

Kili hugged the picture to his chest, though careful not to crease it. “Good pitcher,” he nodded. “Good Ori.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said to him. “You're supposed to say _thank you_.”

Kili looked at him. “Thank you,” he said. “What mean?”

“When someone gives you something, you say thank you,” Fili said. Kili looked blank, and he frowned. “For a gift,” he said. “If I give you a gift.”

Kili thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I'm not know _give_ ,” he said. “What is?”

Fili shot Bilbo a helpless look, and Bilbo covered a smile. The butter knife they had been using as an example the day before still lay forgotten under Kili's little bench, and Bilbo stooped and picked it up, then turned to Ori.

“Master Ori,” he said. “I _give_ you this knife.” 

Ori took the knife and pressed a hand to his chest. “ _Thank you_ , Mr. Baggins,” he said, and made a bow. “But Mr. Baggins,” he said, and produced a button from his pocket, “can I give you this button?”

“Thank you, Master Ori!” said Bilbo. “I have always wanted a button!”

Ori grinned at him, and then turned to Kili. “Kili,” he said. “I give you the picture.” And he pointed at the paper that Kili still clutched in his hands. “I give it to you.”

“Give pitcher,” Kili said thoughtfully, and then nodded. “Thank you Ori?” he said.

Ori beamed, then. “You're very welcome!” he said, which of course meant nothing to Kili, but the smile must have conveyed something, because he hugged the picture closer and said “Thank you,” again, though very quietly.

“You're much better at teaching him than I am,” Fili said, though he sounded only pleased and not in the least resentful, and when Bilbo looked at him he had a smile on his face.

“Mr. Baggins is the best,” said Ori.

“He certainly is,” said Fili.

\----

Slowly, the house began to come to life, dwarves drifting in looking well-rested for the first time in many days and settling down to whatever tasks they had set themselves for the day. Bilbo didn't know whether they had talked about it together or if it was just coincidence, but it seemed as though every dwarf passed by the alcove at some point to say hello to Kili (and to Bilbo, too, though Bilbo was quite sure that he was not the reason they had made the point of coming over). After Oin, to whom Kili had never once spoken, wandered past and loudly said hello, Kili turned to Bilbo with a concerned look on his face.

“Hobbit,” he said. “What mean _hello_?”

“Well,” Bilbo said, “it's just a greeting. It's what you say to someone when you haven't seen them for a while.” 

Kili frowned. “What mean?” he said. 

“It doesn't mean anything,” Bilbo said. “It's just what you say.” Kili shook his head, and Bilbo thought for a minute. “All right,” he said. “If I go away.” He stood up and walked over to the other side of the hearth, so that he couldn't see Kili, and then came back. “Hello, Kili!” he said.

Kili nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Speak when see. What mean?”

“It just means hello!” Bilbo said. “Don't the orcs have something they say when they see someone?”

“Yes, have,” Kili said. 

“Well, what is it?” Bilbo asked.

Kili glanced around and then lowered his voice. “ _Ashdautas vrasublat_ ,” he said. 

“Well, that is quite a mouthful,” Bilbo said, feeling rather uneasy, for he thought he recognised at least part of the orcish phrase. “Hello is much better.”

“Mean same?” Kili asked. “What I'm speak?”

“I'm sure it doesn't mean the same,” Bilbo said. “What do you mean, what do you say?”

Kili seemed to think for a moment. “Two orc,” he said finally. “One orc speak _ashdautas vrasublat_ , two orc speak _nar udautas_. Mean not -- not now. Not--” he shook his head. “Not know word.”

“Today,” Bilbo said, for he had a strong memory of the first time Gandalf had spoken to Kili in the Black Speech, and although of course he did not remember the Black Speech words themselves, he certainly remembered the translations, more clearly than he would wish. “Gandalf said we would not kill you, and you said _not today_.”

“Not day,” Kili said. “What mean day?” 

“ _Day_ is now, when the sun is in the sky,” Bilbo said. “ _Night_ is when we sleep. Do you understand?”

Kili nodded. “Yes,” he said. “ _Nar udautas_ is _not now day_.”

“Not today,” Bilbo said. 

“Not today,” said Kili, “yes. I speak?”

Bilbo hesitated. He really ought to leave it alone, he knew, but a morbid curiosity was overcoming all his sensible thoughts. “And -- and the other part?” he said. “What was is, something _vrasuburat_?”

“ _Ashdautas vrasublat_ ,” Kili said, and Bilbo listened hard but could hear no _nar_ in the phrase.

“It means _I will not kill you_?” he said, already knowing that it did not.

“Not,” Kili said. “Mean -- _ashdautas_ mean day, not know when. Not know day.”

“Some day,” Bilbo said, feeling his stomach twist a little. 

“Some day,” Kili said. “ _Vrasublat_ mean I'm kill you, not now. Mean -- not now. Not can, not know word.” He frowned, but Bilbo did not need the explanation, for he saw it clearly enough.

“It means _some day I will kill you_ ,” he said, and even with all he had learned of orcs, he still found himself able to be horrified anew. “That is how they say _hello_.”

“Hello,” said Kili, and nodded. “Mean same? I'm speak _not day_?”

“No,” said Bilbo, and then, “no! No, it does not mean the same at all!” Kili looked rather taken aback at his vehemence, and Bilbo forced himself to calm down, or at least, to appear to have calmed down. “Hello means someone is happy to see you,” he said. “Hello means they want to see you, they are happy.”

“Happy,” said Kili, and thought hard for a moment, then shook his head. “Forgot,” he said.

“Hm,” Bilbo said. “Well, _happy_ is good, it is how you feel when things are good. How did you feel when Ori gave you the picture?”

“Pitcher,” Kili said. “Pitcher good, Ori good. Thank you Ori.”

“Yes, indeed,” Bilbo said. “That is _happy_.”

Kili looked rather sceptical. “ _Hello_ is like give pitcher, like thank you?” he said. “Give pitcher more good more -- Very more good. I'm not give, dwarfs speak hello, why?”

“You don't need to give them anything,” Bilbo said. “They are just happy to see you. They like you.”

Kili shook his head. “Not understand,” he said stubbornly. “Not understand _hello_.”

“Well, I can't help it if you don't understand anything that doesn't involve killing someone,” Bilbo snapped. 

Kili dropped his head and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “Not understand,” he muttered, and Bilbo sighed and patted his knee. 

“Just say hello,” he said. “When someone says _hello_ to you, just say _hello_ back. All right?”

Kili frowned at his knees, but nodded. “Hello,” he said. “Yes.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo. “Yes.”

\----

Ori's next picture was finished just before lunch, and this time Fili was there to see it. Kili noticed them coming over before Bilbo did, and sat up straight, eyes fixed on the paper in Ori's hand.

“Pitcher,” he muttered, and made an abortive gesture as though reaching out for it, then clenched his fists and put his hands firmly in his lap.

“Yes, it's for you,” Ori laughed, and held it out. “I'm giving it to you.”

“Thank you,” Kili said smartly, and took the picture. He turned it over and stared at it intently, then frowned.

“What is it, Kili?” Bilbo asked, but Kili didn't show him the picture, and did not even seem to have heard him. Bilbo looked at Fili, but Fili was watching his brother as closely as Kili was examining the picture. 

Finally, the little dwarf looked up. “Dwarfs,” he decided.

“Which dwarves, Kili?” Fili asked intently.

Kili looked back down at the picture. “Fili's mother,” he said, and then, sounding confused, “Thorin.”

Bilbo craned his neck, and now Kili did show him the picture, pointing at it doubtfully. “Thorin?” he said. 

And indeed it was Thorin, quite an extraordinary likeness, with the furs and fine clothes that he had lost in Mirkwood, and the great oak branch he used as a shield hanging from his back. He was facing the dwarf woman from the other pictures -- his sister, of course -- and he had his hands on either side of her face. Both dwarves had their eyes closed, and their foreheads were pressed together in what was unmistakeably a gesture of great tenderness. In truth, Bilbo had not imagined that the dwarf king could look so affectionate, and yet here it was, and unless it was merely the product of Ori's imagination -- and if so, Ori's imagination was certainly more impressive than Bilbo's -- he must have seen it at one time or other.

“Yes,” Fili said. “Thorin.”

Kili shook his head. “Not understand,” he said. “Fili's mother, Thorin.” He glanced up at Fili, frowning. “Not understand.”

“Thorin is our mother's brother,” Fili said, slowly and clearly. He pointed at the dwarf woman. “She is our mother, Dis,” he said. “Understand? Fili and Kili's mother?”

Kili nodded. “Understand,” he said. “Mother.” And he glanced at the picture of her with the two young dwarves, mouth twitching. 

“Good,” said Fili, and then pointed at Thorin. “Thorin is her brother,” he said. 

Kili seemed to think about this. “Kili Fili's brother,” he said slowly. 

“Yes,” said Fili. “Kili is Fili's brother, Thorin is Kili's mother's brother.” He took the picture gently from Kili's hands, and Kili let it go without protest, but watched closely as Fili laid it on the end of the table, and then took the picture of Fili and Kili and the picture of the two with their mother and arranged them so that they made an upside-down _L_ , Fili and Kili in the top left corner, the two with their mother to the right, and the picture of their mother with Thorin below. There was still space in the bottom right corner for another picture, and Fili eyed it, then glanced at Ori, who nodded and hurried off. 

Kili craned his neck to see the pictures, and Fili dragged the table closer, which was no small feat as it was rather large. He stood, then, and pointed.

“Fili and Kili,” he said. “Dis and Thorin. Understand?”

Kili glanced up at him, then returned to studying the pictures, brushing them now and again with his fingertips.

“Do you think he will understand?” Fili asked Bilbo in an undertone.

Privately, Bilbo thought that a nice oliphaunt would make for a much less emotionally draining afternoon. But he put a hand on Fili's arm and smiled at him.

“He will eventually,” he said. “I know he will.”

\----

Bilbo felt quite exhausted from everything that had happened in the morning, and decided to abandon his plan to introduce Kili to the idea of the future tense that afternoon, especially since Kili seemed not to be able to tear his eyes away from the pictures, studying them over and over, his face set in a deep frown of concentration. Fili sat by his side, seeming content to simply watch him and say nothing, and Bilbo decided that in this case, his concerns about letting Kili be too quiet were unnecessary, for everywhere was bustle and dwarves, and silence was almost unimaginable.

He spent a little time mending his clothes, now finally laundered and dry, but still looking rather the worse for wear for all the excitement they had been through. Then he collected together the off-cuts of the tunics the other dwarves had altered and considered whether he could make anything serviceable out of them. Eventually, though, he tired of needlework and wandered out into the town, greeting Dwalin as he passed and letting his feet take him where they would. 

He was passing along a narrow walkway with houses on one side and water on the other -- his second-least favourite kind, after the walkways with water on _both_ sides -- when he heard a shout, and looked up to see the young girl from the day before waving down at him from a balcony.

“Good afternoon, master bobbit!” she called. 

“Ah!” Bilbo said. “Good afternoon, Mistress Tilda!” 

Tilda smiled and then rushed down the steps that led from the balcony to the street. “Will you come in for tea?” she asked, and then curtseyed in an untidy fashion. “Sigrid's made rock cakes!”

“Well,” Bilbo started, and he knew he should not be talking to the people of the town, knew that Thorin would certainly not approve, but after all, he had talked to no-one but dwarves, dwarves and dwarves for so long -- not counting an occasional discussion with a terrifying and potentially murderous elf -- and how much harm could a rock cake or two do, truly?

“I would be delighted,” he said, and followed Tilda up the steps.

\----

Tilda's sister -- Sigrid, Bilbo remembered -- looked rather flustered when the hobbit made his appearance at the door. She had a smear of flour on one cheek and a plate of rock cakes in one hand, which she almost dropped when she tried hastily to curtsey. 

“Oh, master bobbit,” she said. “I wasn't expecting you!” 

“It's _hobbit_ , actually,” said Bilbo. “But my name is Bilbo Baggins. Can I help you with those cakes?”

Sigrid seemed like she wanted to refuse, but at that moment a gangly youth tumbled in, and Bilbo took advantage of her distraction to take the plate and set it on the table. 

“Rock cakes, Tilda said!” said the youth. “Oh! Who is this?”

“Mr. Baggins,” said Tilda. “He's a, a _hobbit_.”

“What's a hobbit?” the youth asked, grabbing a rock cake.

“ _Bain_ ,” said Sigrid, sounding mortified, and slapped him across the knuckles. 

The youth flushed. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Baggins,” he said, and gave a clumsy bow. “Is a hobbit a type of dwarf?”

If anything, Sigrid's face became even more horrified, but Bilbo just chuckled. “No, Master Bain,” he said. “A hobbit is something else entirely. I can tell you all about it, if you'd like.”

Bain glanced at Sigrid, and she quickly shook her head.

“I'm sure Mr. Baggins doesn't want you troubling him with all your questions,” she said. 

“Oh, I don't mind at all!” Bilbo said. “I am like everyone else in this world, in that I do so enjoy talking about myself.”

Tilda gave her sister a pleading look, and Sigrid relented, pouring cups of tea for everyone and setting them on the table.

“If you're sure you don't mind,” she said.

Bilbo sat down and smiled. “Well,” he said. “Far away to the west, beyond the Misty Mountains, there is a little green country called the Shire...”

\----

The tea was all gone, and the rock cakes, too, with the exception of two that Sigrid had laid aside for the children's father, by the time Bilbo had finished explaining all about hobbits to his eager audience. They seemed fascinated by the idea of a whole race of people they had never heard about, all as short as Bilbo himself, and living in holes in the ground, but not like dwarves (not at all! Bilbo insisted). Every detail seemed to interest them, and Tilda even begged her sister if she might be allowed to go barefoot, which Sigrid of course refused. 

And then there came footsteps on the stairs, and Sigrid jumped up to put on more water to boil. 

“Da!” said Tilda as the door swung open, and Bilbo stood to greet the newcomer, who was very tall and dark-haired, with a rangy look about him.

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” he said, and bowed. “Your children have been kind enough to invite me for tea.”

The man cocked his head on one side, examining Bilbo from head to toe. “Bard,” he said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He frowned. “You are with the dwarves.”

“I am,” said Bilbo. 

“But you are not a dwarf yourself,” Bard said.

“He's a hobbit, Da!” said Tilda.

“There's a whole lot of them, over the Misty Mountains,” Bain put in eagerly.

“Yes,” Bard said. “I have heard of hobbits. But what brings one like you here to our town?” He sat at the table, taking the tea that Sigrid offered to him, and Bilbo sat down, too, feeling a little uncomfortable under Bard's steady gaze.

“I came with the dwarves, as you say,” he said. “I am to help them regain their homeland.”

“Hm,” said Bard. 

“What about the goblin,” Bain suddenly piped up, eyes shining. “Did you help capture him? Was he very fierce?”

“There is no goblin,” Bard said, and Bilbo, who had just opened his mouth to say the same, looked at him with a frown. Bard sipped his tea and did not take his eyes from Bilbo's face. “I saw you pass, the night you arrived,” he said. “I know a dwarf when I see one.”

“Well,” Bilbo said, clearing his throat and getting up, “I must be going, I have stayed much longer than I intended.” He bowed to the children. “Thank you all for your hospitality,” he said, and trotted to the door.

“Master hobbit,” said Bard as Bilbo reached out for the handle, and he turned, pasting his most polite smile onto his face.

“Yes?” he said.

“What is a company of dwarves doing imprisoning one of their own?” Bard asked, stretching his long legs out before him. 

“I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Bard,” Bilbo said. “I do not involve myself in the affairs of dwarves.”

Bard raised an eyebrow. “It seems to me that you involve yourself quite deeply,” he said.

Bilbo shook his head. “I am a hired hand, no more,” he said. “Now, I really must be going.” 

And with that, he hastened from the house and did not stop until he was several streets away, and when he did it was only to berate himself for his weakness for rock cakes and gentle company.

\----

Bilbo had convinced himself that the day could not contain any more surprises -- for dinner was long over and it would soon be time to go to bed -- when Kili, who had been listening carefully to Bilbo describing the difference between _I_ and _me_ , suddenly bowed his head, and Bilbo looked up to see that Thorin stood before them, holding a sheet of paper in his hands.

“Hello, Kili,” he said.

Bilbo nudged Kili. “Thorin said hello to you,” he said.

“Not day,” whispered Kili, and Bilbo grimaced.

“He says hello back,” he said to Thorin.

Thorin nodded. He was looking down at the three pictures that still sat arranged on the end of the table, and his face was inscrutable. “I have a drawing to show you,” he said, and pulled up a stool, then carefully laid the new picture down, filling in the empty space. Bilbo sucked in his breath when he looked at it, and shook Kili's arm.

“A picture, Kili,” he said. “Thorin wants to show you a picture.”

Kili hesitated, but his desire to see the picture clearly won out over his fear of Thorin, and, after casting a hunted glance at Bilbo, he straightened up and leaned over it. Thorin waited in silence, and so Bilbo did, too, and did not ask Kili who the dwarves were in the picture. It was clear enough, after all: they were Fili and Kili -- younger again now, but still clearly recognisable -- and Thorin. Thorin had one hand on Fili's shoulder and ruffled Kili's hair with the other, and Fili grinned up at Thorin while Kili laughed and reached out to shove his brother. Thorin, for his part, had a smile on his face which seemed equal parts pride and affection, and Bilbo felt his heart twist painfully in his chest for the ghost of a time that would not be seen again.

Kili stared at the picture for a long time, touching each of the faces, and looking from them to the faces in his other pictures. Then he looked up at Bilbo. “Thorin,” he said.

Thorin leaned forward and placed his forefinger on the picture. “I am your uncle, Kili,” he said. “Your mother's brother. I am your uncle.”

Kili said nothing, and did not look up, but he stared at Thorin's hand where it lay over the picture until the dwarf king finally rose to his feet.

“It is your picture, now,” he said. “I give it to you.”

Kili did not respond, and Bilbo shot Thorin a look that he had intended to be apologetic, but he suspected just looked sad. Thorin did not look at him, though, but only at Kili. “I give it to you,” he said again, as if defeated.

Kili curled over his pictures, stroking the faces and looking from one to the other, and then, so briefly that Bilbo almost thought he imagined it, he raised his head and looked Thorin in the face.

“Thank you,” he whispered.


	23. Chapter 23

On their third afternoon in Lake-Town, Bilbo finally got his oliphaunt.

In fact, it was a little more complicated than he had imagined it would be, for Ori came to him in the morning with his list in his hand (and it had now crept onto a second sheet, Bilbo saw, and wondered if they would need to ask for more paper and pencils before they were done) and a slight frown on his face.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said, pointing at where Bilbo had written _oliphaunt_ , “I'm afraid I don't know what this is.”

“Well!” Bilbo said. “It is an oliphaunt! Do not dwarf children play at being oliphaunts?”

Ori shrugged. “I suppose we don't,” he said. “At least, I never did. Is it a beast?”

“Yes!” Bilbo replied. “A great grey beast, bigger than a mountain, with enormous tusks and a trunk like a snake.” He used his arm to show Ori what the trunk was like, for he had had a great deal of practice at pretending to be an oliphaunt when he had just been a little hobbit lad himself.

“Oh!” Ori said, “you mean a mûmak!”

“I have never heard that word,” Bilbo said. “Is it dwarvish?” 

Ori looked offended. “Of course not, Mr. Baggins!” he said. “I would not teach you a dwarvish word!”

“No,” Bilbo said, thinking rather guiltily of his continuing _iglishmêk_ lessons with Kili, “no, no, of course you wouldn't. Well, but I have never heard it. I suppose even Common must be a little different in different places, after all.”

“I can certainly draw a mûmak,” Ori said. “It'll make a nice change from drawing dwarves all the time!” 

And he scuttled off happily to the table, where he sat down and began immediately to draw, and so it was that in the afternoon, when most of the dwarves had gone out to take the air, he appeared at the alcove and produced the finished picture.

“Here you are, Kili,” he said. 

Kili, who had been almost trembling with excitement from the moment Ori had risen from the table with the paper in his hands, took it immediately and turned it over with a hungry look.

“Thank you Ori,” he said, and then bowed his head over the picture. Ori grinned at Bilbo, and Bilbo patted his arm.

“You are very good to do all of this,” he said. 

“It's no trouble,” Ori said. “No-one's ever been this excited by my drawings before.”

“I think perhaps no-one's ever been this excited by any drawings before,” Bilbo chuckled, and then patted Kili's knee. “What is it, my lad? Can I see?”

Kili showed him the picture. “Not know word,” he said slowly, looking a little worried. 

“It is an oliphaunt,” said Bilbo. The drawing was lifelike indeed, the great creature rearing up on its hind legs, trunk raised and tusks long and wicked-looking. “ _Oliphaunt_.”

“Oliphunt,” Kili said. 

“ _Oliphaunt_ ,” Bilbo corrected him, and Kili mouthed the word a moment, then nodded. 

“Oliphaunt,” he said, and took the picture back, cocking his head on one side. “Why Ori make oliphaunt?”

“Mr. Baggins asked me to,” said Ori, pointing at Bilbo. Kili frowned at him.

“Why oliphaunt?” he said. 

“I thought you might like to see one,” Bilbo said. “Not everything has to be complicated, Kili. Some things are just for fun.”

“What _fun_?” Kili asked, but Bilbo shook his head.

“Another time,” he said. “Let me tell you about oliphaunts. You see, you can't tell in the picture, but they are very large, larger than this house.” He paused and nodded. “Do you understand?”

Kili nodded, still frowning at the picture. “Yes, know,” he said. “Very big, more big more very big. Men have, not here.” He looked at Bilbo. “Know oliphaunt.”

Bilbo felt rather taken aback, and he looked at Ori. “Can it be that even orcs tell stories about oliphaunts?” he said.

Ori shrugged. “Nori used to be on at me about mûmakil when I was a lad,” he said. “I was scared they would come and squash me. Maybe everyone tells stories about them, even orcs.”

“Mûmak,” Kili said then, nodding vigorously at Ori. “Ori know orc-speak?”

“Certainly not!” Ori said. “Mûmak is the Common word.”

Kili looked puzzled, and Bilbo nudged him. “It's the hobbit-speak word,” he said. “Well, it's not really, since hobbits themselves say _oliphaunt_. Hm.”

Kili was starting to look thoroughly confused, now, and Bilbo shook his head. “Let's just stick to oliphaunt, I think,” he said. “How did you hear about oliphaunts, Kili?”

Kili shook his head. “I'm not understand,” he said. 

“Did the orcs tell you about them?” Ori asked. “Do they tell stories about oliphaunts?”

Kili looked at him for a moment, then shook his head again. “Not understand.” He pointed at the picture. “Oliphaunt, yes?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo, deciding that after all, it was not that important where Kili had heard about oliphaunts, especially since it probably involved someone being killed or having important body parts removed. “Oliphaunt, very good.”

Kili nodded. “Good pitcher, thank you Ori,” he said, but he did not stroke it, and seemed rather uneasy, and later Bilbo found the picture at the very bottom of the pile Kili had made.

\----

That evening, Bilbo sat down to dinner at the end of the table nearest to Kili, as he always did -- and now that the table was closer to Kili, it was much easier for Bilbo to feed Kili and himself more or less at the same time -- and was about to dig into the food, when silence fell, just as it had two nights before, and Bilbo saw that Thorin had stood once more. His heart sank as Thorin strode down the room towards the foot of the table, for surely he could not be thinking of trying to seat Kili beside him again so soon, not after the complete failure of the previous attempt? He opened his mouth to voice an objection, but Thorin did not stop in front of Kili, but instead behind Ori, who sat opposite Bilbo. 

Ori looked up at Thorin with a rather terrified expression, and Dori, who sat beside him, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and bodily hauled him sideways.

“Move out of the way,” he said in a sharp whisper. “Thorin wants to sit down!”

Ori moved with a squeak, and Thorin nodded gravely at him and did indeed sit down in the place that Ori had vacated, opposite Bilbo and a mere few feet away from Kili.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said evenly.

There was a short silence, and then Fili jumped to his feet and climbed onto the table, skilfully avoiding stepping in any of the dishes of food as he made his way down to where Nori sat beside Bilbo.

“Can I--?” he said, and all the dwarves on that side of the table made various harrumphing noises, but nonetheless a space appeared between Bilbo and Nori, and Fili dropped into it. 

“Hello, Bilbo,” he said. “Hello, Kili.”

“Hello!” Bilbo said. “A good idea of yours, Thorin,” he added. “This end of the room is much warmer.”

Thorin nodded as if they had been discussing the matter all day, and then picked up his bread. Bilbo did the same, and soon the silence had been drowned by the raucous chatter and laughter of the dwarves. Thorin made quiet (for a dwarf) conversation with Fili and occasionally directed a word or two at Ori (Ori mostly squeaked in response), and none of them looked at Kili, or at least, Bilbo did not see them look. But when, after perhaps ten minutes, Kili cautiously picked up a potato from the plate Bilbo had put in front of him and shoved it whole into his mouth, it seemed to Bilbo that Thorin's shoulders relaxed, just a little.

\----

After dinner, Thorin turned outward from the table, smoking his pipe and gazing into the fire, but he did not move away. Kili had withdrawn further into his alcove once the meal had finished, and now sat in the shadows with his knees drawn up before him, but although he kept his head mostly bowed, he looked up at Bilbo every now and then, and even sneaked a glance or two at Thorin's profile.

“Balin,” said Thorin after some time of silent smoking, “tell us a tale.”

Balin had drawn a stool up and now sat warming his hands at the fire. He gave Thorin a thoughtful look. “What tale would you have me tell?” he asked.

“The tale of how Mahal created the dwarves,” Thorin said, without hesitation.

“Ah, well,” said Balin, and he settled himself more comfortably on the stool and drew out his own pipe. Ori and Fili shifted in their seats, too, and Bilbo looked over to see them half curled up, almost like children, their eyes intent on Balin. “It all began in darkness, before the First Age, and although the elves claim to be the first-born of all the folk of Middle-Earth, in fact it is the dwarves who were created first...”

And so the story went, with Mahal creating the seven fathers of the dwarves and making to destroy them, and Iluvatar staying his hand. Bilbo had heard snatches of it before, and had read something about it back in the Shire, although in those days he had been far more interested in elves than dwarves. He had never heard the whole story at once, though, and Balin was an entrancing speaker, his voice rising and falling with the twists and turns of the story, as if he had told it a thousand times before and yet found it still fresh and full of wonder. The other dwarves had all grown quiet and sat listening, even the more cantankerous ones like Gloin and Nori, and Fili and Ori almost seemed to be mouthing the words along with Balin as he spoke, their eyes shining in the firelight as they heard the tale of how they all came to be.

Towards the end of the tale, as Mahal raised his great hammer to smite the fathers of the dwarves, Bilbo glanced at Kili to see that he, too, was listening, his eyes fixed on Balin, though surely he could understand but little of what was said. Bilbo smiled to himself, and then turned his own attention back to the tale.

When Balin's voice finally fell silent, it seemed as though a collective sigh ran through the dwarves, and for a moment, all was still. Then Fili sat up.

“Uncle,” he said quietly, “tell us a tale of Erebor.”

Thorin half-turned to look at him. “What tale would you have me tell?” he asked, and his reply was so similar to Balin's that Bilbo wondered if there was some ritual form to them. 

Fili considered for a moment. “Nothing with orcs,” he said. “Tell us about the day you and Uncle Frerin found the secret passageway.”

Thorin sat back with a half-smile. “I have not told that story in--” he stopped, and Fili nodded solemnly.

“Twenty-five years,” he said. “I know.”

Thorin nodded. “Twenty-five years,” he said slowly, and then glanced briefly at Kili -- whose head was once again bowed -- and turned again to face the fire.

“It all began many years ago, before the dragon came,” he said, his voice lowering to a comfortable rumble, “when your Uncle Frerin and I were just dwarflings in Erebor...”

Thorin's tale was more light-hearted than Balin's, filled with touches of wry humour and details that made it clear that it was a tale told from experience, not a weighty story handed down the generations. Bilbo found himself smiling and even laughing at parts, and when he looked sideways at Fili's enthralled face, he could almost imagine the stern dwarf king sitting by his sister's hearth in Ered Luin, telling this same tale to his little nephews more than a score of years ago. It was Kili, though, who drew his attention, for although his head had still been bowed at the beginning of the tale, it soon crept up by degrees, and by the time the two young princes had stumbled across the door that seemed like just another part of the rock wall, Kili was staring at Thorin just as intently as he had at Balin, as if he had forgotten that he was afraid of the dwarf king. He remained that way for the rest of the story, and though Thorin had seemed to pay no attention to him at all, when his tale was finally finished, and the young princes found and scolded by their long-suffering mother, Thorin turned his whole body on the bench until he was facing Kili.

“And that, my nephew,” he said, “is how your Uncle Frerin and I found a secret passageway that later saved the life of more than one dwarf.” 

Kili stared unblinking at him for one long moment, then ducked his head and frowned at the floor. But before Thorin turned away again, Kili looked up at him again, though more circumspectly this time. Thorin smiled at him, and the whole company seemed to hold their breath. Bilbo supposed that was the downfall of it in the end, for Kili seemed to become aware of the silence, and, glancing round to see that all were watching him, seemed immediately to shrink, slipping back into the shadows of the alcove. Thorin sat back, but his smile did not fade entirely, and he turned now to look at Fili.

“Is it still as fair a tale as you remember?” he asked.

Where Thorin's smile was somehow solemn, Fili's was wide and bright. “Fairer still,” he said. “And let us hope that another twenty-five years do not pass before you tell it again.”

“Aye,” Thorin said thoughtfully. “Let us hope so.”

\----

After the tales came the singing. 

It was Bofur who started it, and normally songs that Bofur started were lively and filled with bawdy implications or childish humour. But perhaps the tales of times past had put him in a more melancholy mood, for his voice rang out surprisingly deep and clear, in a song like the one that Fili had sung those many nights ago in the wildlands, though not exactly the same; a song of earth and stone and deep longing that could never be fully quenched. The other dwarves joined in, one by one, some singing the words, others humming harmonies, and Bilbo was reminded of the night he had first met the company, and had wished indeed that he had not, but for one long moment -- the length of a song of lost gold and quiet determination -- he had sat spellbound in his own parlour and had not minded their presence at all. 

Many days had passed since then, and many terrors in the dark, and much heartache, but now Bilbo sat once more, though far from his own comfortable hobbit hole and perhaps never to see it again, and listened to the mournful voices of the dwarves as though enchanted. And he was not the only one, he realised, for Kili sat with shining eyes and mouth half-open, just as he had in the wildlands, and listened as though there was nothing else in the world but the music that rose and fell about him.

In later days, when all things seemed dark and hope itself all but lost, Bilbo would remember that evening by the fireside and hug the memory to his chest, a reminder that whatever grim paths we tread, there is always something bright and burning in the world that draws us on, step by step. But that evening, in a wooden house built on a lake many, many miles from his home and the hobbit he had once been, he simply sat amongst his friends and listened.

\----

And so the days passed on, and Bilbo grew almost to forget that they were not home safe, that the dragon still awaited them, deep in the depths of the snow-covered peak that could be seen from the windows of the common room if you craned your neck, and that the town itself was full of danger, at least for one member of their party, and perhaps for all. His days were filled with grammar and vocabulary and gentle encouragements, and when Bifur came to teach Kili _iglishmêk_ he would steal away and stroll around the town. Sometimes he saw Tilda or her brother or sister, and he smiled and nodded at them but did not again accept an invitation to tea, for he was wary of their father, whose eyes seemed to see more than was good for any of them. And in the evenings, and whenever they had a moment to themselves, Kili taught Bilbo the gesture-language, and Bilbo progressed from cramping fingers to something more like the fluid movements that the dwarves made, and sometimes, when Bifur was practising silently with Kili, he would watch them surreptitiously and find he could even recognise some of the signs.

Kili's pictures began to pile up, and Bilbo took to fixing them around the alcove so that Kili could look at whichever one he chose without shuffling through the pile. Most of them were scenes from Ered Luin, some with one or more of the other dwarves in them, many with Dis or Thorin, almost all with Fili. A few were of other scenes -- the Lonely Mountain, or the seven fathers of the dwarves, although Kili seemed not really to understand this one. Bilbo tacked up his oliphaunt with the rest, but found that it mysteriously fell down almost every time his back was turned, and eventually he left it to lie on the table, feeling rather dispirited. But he cheered up when Ori drew him a very life-like garden scene, with flowers and vegetables all growing cheerfully in the sun, and he showed it to Kili and told him the names of everything in it, and Kili listened and stroked the picture and when Bilbo tacked it up, it did not fall down.

On their sixth day in Lake-Town, Bilbo came back from a stroll to find Kili frowning up at his pictures. He sat on his little stool and checked them all over, but none seemed to be missing. 

“Something the matter, my lad?” he said.

Kili glanced at him, then turned to face him properly. “Why not hobbit picture?” he said.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “Why not what?” he said. In the last few days, he had been trying to encourage Kili to use more words -- for Bilbo understood most of what he said, but often only because he was accustomed to filling in the gaps. Sometimes he allowed Kili's shorthand to slide past him without complaint, for in truth it took the little dwarf a long time to construct anything close to proper sentences, and it meant that their conversations were exceedingly slow and frustrating, but now, with the fresh air from the lake still in his lungs, he felt ready for a battle.

Kili looked glum, and then took a deep breath. “Why,” he said, and stopped, seeming to think hard. “Why... is not... hobbit -- picture?” he said. Bilbo waited, and Kili growled and tried again. “Why is not picture, hobbit in picture,” he said. “Why is not picture hobbit. Why is not hobbit in picture?”

“Why are there no pictures of hobbits?” Bilbo asked, finally taking pity on the poor lad. Kili nodded, and Bilbo nodded back and waited.

Kili sighed. “Why is here not picture hobbit?” he said, and then looked disgusted. “No. Is wrong. I'm know is wrong.” He gestured at his pictures. “Many picture -- pictures, many of pictures, not hobbit,” he said. “Why is here not hobbit?”

Bilbo gave up entirely at that, for perhaps he felt rested and refreshed, but Kili was clearly not in a patient enough mood for this particular exercise. “They're all pictures of when you were young,” he said. “Almost all, anyway. You didn't know any hobbits when you were young, so there aren't any.”

Kili shook his head. “Not hobbits,” he said, and pointed at Bilbo. “Hobbit. Why is not hobbit in pictures?”

“Well, you didn't know me when you were young, either,” Bilbo said. “So I'm not in the pictures.”

Kili stared at him. “You're not know Kili when before?” he said. “Not with Fili before?”

“No!” Bilbo said. “I only met Fili and your uncle this year, in the spring. And I only met you for the first time a month or two ago.”

“Month,” said Kili, screwing up his face in an expression that meant he was trying to remember a word he had learned before. Bilbo waited, and Kili finally nodded. “Month,” he said. “I'm do see hobbit with orcs. Hobbit and Fili. Month, two month before.” He paused, frowning. “Hobbit not know Kili before before? All dwarfs do know, hobbit not do know?”

Bilbo winced slightly, for it seemed his recent attempt to introduce Kili to _do_ had not gone as well as he'd hoped. “All the dwarves knew you before,” he said. “But I didn't. I _did_ not. That's why I'm not in the pictures.”

Kili settled down to think about this, and Bilbo, recognising from his expression and the way he sat that he would be thinking some while, wandered off to make them some tea. When he came back, Kili was waiting, clearly with another question.

“Why hobbit friend?” he asked, and then quickly shook his head. “Why is... Why are hobbit friend me?”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Because I am,” he said. “I like you, you like me, so we are friends.” He paused. “I hope you like me, anyway. I suppose I have never asked.”

“Like you, yes,” said Kili. “Like hobbit more more every.” He shook his head again. “ _I'm_ like hobbit more more every,” he said, and gave a satisfied nod. “He is right?”

Bilbo didn't have the heart to correct his first sentence, not since it had given him such a surprised glow of pleasure, so he corrected the second instead. “ _Is it right?_ ” he said, and got for his pains the irritated look Kili always got when having to deal with _he_ , _she_ and _it_. 

“Is it right,” Kili muttered. “Yes, it. Is it right.” He looked up at Bilbo again. “Hobbit not do know Kili before,” he said. “Hobbit like, Hobbit is friend? Friend is only like, not is need more?”

“That's right, master dwarf,” Bilbo said. “Liking someone is enough for being their friend, if you treat them well and they like you back.” 

Kili stared at his knees for a moment or two, then nodded. “Ori make picture -- _draw_ , Ori draw picture hobbit?” he said. “Picture in hobbit?”

“I don't know,” Bilbo said, glancing over to where Ori sat at his endless sketching. “Why don't you ask him?”

Kili looked over at Ori, and Bilbo smiled encouragingly. But Kili fell silent and looked away, and after a little while, Bilbo changed the subject.

\----

On the seventh day, the Master came to call. 

Whether he had planned it that way, or whether it was by accident, almost all the dwarves were absent when he came, out wandering the town or the nearby countryside, or simply staring at their mountain from the landing stage. Only Bilbo, Kili and Bofur were in the common room, and Dwalin lounged outside as ever, smoking his pipe and watching the passers-by with his gimlet eyes. It was his voice that Bilbo heard drifting up to them from the street door, deep and dangerous, and Bofur frowned and glanced down the stairwell, then turned, wide-eyed, to Bilbo. 

“He's coming in,” he said urgently. “Quick!” 

There was no time to get Kili across the room and up the stairs to the next floor, and so Bilbo dragged his hair over his face, wincing as his fingers snagged in the tangles and tears started at the corners of Kili's eyes, and ducked to whisper in the little dwarf's ear. 

“Hide, Kili,” he said. “ _Snaga_ , understand? Make think _snaga_.”

“The pictures!” Bofur said, as the Master's voice began to echo in the stairwell, and Bilbo, heart thumping, leaped onto the bench and snatched at them, tearing them down in handfuls. He piled them face-down on the table, and jumped down from the bench, grasping the end of Kili's chain just as the Master stepped into the room, followed by a very angry-looking Dwalin. 

“No, I'm afraid I must insist,” the Master was saying. “After all, if the accommodations are not suitable, it is my reputation that will suffer.”

“I've told you, they're perfectly suitable,” Dwalin growled, but the Master had stopped, and was inspecting the room with a glint in his eye.

“Oh, what a shame,” he said. “I was hoping to find more of you here.” But he smiled a secret smile, and stepped forward, bowing to Bofur. “Mr. Boger, if I remember correctly?” he said.

Bofur bowed back. “Aye, that's right,” he said cheerfully, but there was a hard edge to his smile.

And then the Master turned to Kili and Bilbo, and the glint in his eyes grew a little more eager. 

“And this is the little goblin, then,” he said. 

“Aye, that's him,” Dwalin said, striding forward and interposing himself between the Master and Kili. “You'll remember you swore not to approach him.”

The Master, taller by a head even than Dwalin, had no trouble looking over him to stare at Kili's bowed head. “And the hobbit,” he said. “I'm afraid we have not been properly introduced.”

“No, I suppose we have not,” said Bilbo, which was of course the height of bad manners, and quite out of character for him.

The Master tipped his head slightly to one side. “Now, Mr. Dwalin,” he said. “I did indeed promise not to approach your prisoner, but only on condition that you guard him securely. And yet it seems you have left the smallest member of your party in charge of him. Why, even the prisoner is larger than he!”

“The hobbit is well able to handle him,” Dwalin said. “But he is not the guard. I am.”

“I see,” the Master said. “And are you scared of your guards, little goblin?”

Dwalin sucked in his breath angrily at this clear disregard for the promises that had been made, but it was Bilbo who spoke.

“He can't understand you,” he said. “He doesn't speak any language that you know.”

“Does he not, indeed?” the Master said thoughtfully. “And what language does he speak, then?”

Dwalin gave Bilbo a warning look, but Bilbo did not acknowledge it. “Hobbit-speech,” he said. “I translate for him.”

The Master raised his eyebrows at that, but at that moment they heard heavy footsteps coming up the stair, and a moment later Thorin appeared in the room. 

“The street door lies open,” he said. “Dwalin, I told you--” He stopped, then, seeing the Master, and his brows drew down. “Master of Lake-Town,” he said grimly. “To what do we owe this honour?”

“Ah, Thorin King,” said the Master, and perhaps Bilbo imagined it, but there seemed just a hint of disappointment in his tone. “In fact, it is you I came to see.”

“Whatever your business is, I ask that we discuss it elsewhere,” Thorin said. “Who knows what ears might be listening?”

The Master gave him an odd look, at that, but then glanced at Bilbo appraisingly. Bilbo did his best to look like a dangerous, untrustworthy _translator_ , and the Master turned back to Thorin.

“Whatever you wish, my Lord King,” he said. “Whatever you wish.”

\----

After that, Bilbo tacked the pictures up in their bedroom instead, with the exception of the few that Kili seemed determined to carry with him everywhere -- the first few Ori had drawn for him, and two others where Fili was hugging his brother. Kili mourned silently over the torn corners, stroking them with his fingers as if hoping to knit them back together, and Bilbo offered to cut them off, but Kili refused with something like horror. Thorin gave orders that the street door was never to be unbolted except in the very moment of entering or exiting, and that unless Thorin was available to answer the door, everyone was to stay away from the windows and Dwalin was to tell any callers that nobody was home. But the Master did not call again.

On the eighth day, Kili was nervous, shifting in his seat and glancing at Ori every few minutes, until eventually Ori came over with his latest picture. It was Thorin, working at a forge, and Kili nodded and stroked it and thanked Ori enthusiastically, just as always, and Bilbo was about to start teaching him words for metalworking implements (not that he knew that many -- he suspected he would need Fili's help there), when Kili shifted again and glanced up at Ori and then away. Bilbo frowned, for it had been days since Kili had been this wary of Ori, and Ori seemed to feel that something was wrong, too, for he had been standing to go, but he sat down again and frowned at the little dwarf.

“Kili?” he said. “Is something the matter?”

Kili shook his head, staring at the floor, and Bilbo nudged him.

“Come now,” he said. “What has happened?”

Kili glanced at him, looking quite terrified, and Bilbo suddenly felt dread in his stomach. “What is it?” he said urgently. “What's wrong?” He gripped the little dwarf by the arm, and felt to his horror that it was shaking. 

“Kili?” said Ori again, and Kili finally met his eyes.

“Ori make picture hobbit?” he said, so fast that Bilbo almost could not understand him, and then suddenly withdrew into himself, bowing his head and closing his eyes, his arm still shaking under Bilbo's hand.

“I--” Ori said, looking quite concerned. “What did he say?”

“He wants you to draw a picture of me,” Bilbo said wonderingly. 

A slow smile spread across Ori's face. “Well, of course I will!” he said. “What a lovely idea!”

Kili did not respond, and Bilbo prodded him, though very gently. “Kili,” he said. “Ori said yes. He said he would draw you a picture of me.”

Kili stayed huddled and shaking for a moment, then he uncurled slightly, enough to peer at Bilbo. “Not punish?” he whispered.

Bilbo shook his head firmly. “No, not punish, Ori is very pleased. He is happy you asked him for something. He's your friend, he is happy.”

Kili lifted his head and glanced quickly at Ori. Ori beamed at him, and Kili looked away, and then back. “Ori make picture?” he whispered. 

“Yes,” Ori said. “Yes, of course I will make you the picture. If you want any other pictures, all you have to do is ask. You just have to ask, Kili.”

And he clapped Kili on the shoulder, and Kili almost managed not to flinch away.

\----

The bells began to toll that afternoon, dreary tones in the dreary grey of another foggy late-autumn day. Kili was engaged in poring over his pictures -- the ones he carried with him everywhere -- and Fili sat beside him, smoking his pipe and occasionally saying a word or two to his brother. Both raised their heads at the sound, as did Bilbo, who had been engaged in reading a book he had found tucked in one of the bedrooms. 

“What's that?” he asked. 

Fili peered out of the window. “Funeral,” he said. Bilbo scrambled to look, and saw a shrouded body being carried slowly through the streets below them. He bowed his head briefly for the dead, and went back to sit by Kili.

“What is?” Kili asked. “Music?”

“It's a bell,” Bilbo said. “ _Bell_. They ring it because someone has died.”

“Bell,” said Kili, and then frowned. “Man do die, bell music?”

Bilbo sat for a moment, considering how to explain. “When someone dies,” he said, “they ring the bell. It is sad. Sad music. I don't know what else they do.” He shrugged. “Each folk have their own customs.”

“In my grandfather's day, the men of Lake-Town would put their dead in boats and push them out into the lake,” Thorin said. “There they would set fire to them, and thus return them through fire to water.” He looked out of the window at the funeral procession. “I do not know if it is still the same,” he said.

Bilbo turned to Kili. “Did you understand that?” he asked. 

Kili shrugged. “One word, two words,” he said. “Not many.” He glanced shyly at Thorin, and then away.

Bilbo nodded. “Here,” he said, “the men burn their dead in a fire.” He pointed to the fire in the hearth. “They burn them,” he said again. The part about the boats and the lake seemed unnecessarily complicated, not to mention involved too much discussion of water for Bilbo's liking, and so he left it out.

Kili stared at the fire. “Why?” he said. 

“It is a sign of respect,” said Thorin. “They return them to the earth, to the water and the air.”

Bilbo nodded at Kili, and Kili frowned. “Why not eat?” he said. “Why -- why is not eat?”

Silence fell over the room, then, and Bilbo turned with a sick feeling in his stomach to see that all the dwarves were staring at Kili. Fili looked stricken, and Thorin's face was cold with anger. He turned back to Kili, and saw that the little dwarf was looking around, wide-eyed, and seemed to be shrinking under his eyes.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Sorry, sorry, is wrong, I know is wrong.”

“No, no,” Bilbo said, and patted Kili on the shoulder. “They are not angry with you.” He shot a look at Thorin, and Thorin seemed to try to look less furious, but he did not succeed, and so instead he turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Kili started at the sound, and Bilbo stroked his arm soothingly.

“They are angry with the orcs,” he said. “They are not angry with you.”

“Not orcs here,” Kili whispered, but then Fili came to sit beside them. Kili edged away from him, but Fili caught him by the arm and held it.

“Kili,” he said. “I am not angry. Thorin is not angry. We are sad. Do you remember sad?” 

“Yes,” Kili said. “Sad is cry. Is not weak.” 

Fili nodded. “We are sad,” he said slowly, “because the orcs were so cruel to you.”

Kili slowly shook his head. “I not know _cruel_ ,” he said. “I'm sorry, sorry. Not know.”

Fili smiled at him sadly. “They punished you,” he said. “They hurt you. We want you to be happy, but they made you sad.”

Kili stared at him for a long time, and Fili did not push him, simply sat holding his arm and smiling at him. Finally, Kili shook his head again.

“ _Snaga_ ,” he said. “I'm do _snaga_. Is why orcs do punish. Not sad.” He nodded. “Not sad Fili, not sad Thorin.”

Fili laid his other hand on Kili's shoulder, gripping it as though he could somehow pour understanding into Kili through the contact. “You are not a _snaga_ ,” he said. “You are my brother. You are my brother.”

\----

And then, everything changed.

There was no warning. It was early evening, just after dinner and dark outside. Bilbo was sitting contemplating the fire and the fact that the pipe-weed available in Lake-Town was remarkably inferior. Most of the other dwarves were occupied with the weapons which had finally been delivered that afternoon, and there was a great sound of sharpening of swords and axes that made it almost impossible to speak and be heard. Bifur and Kili were practising _iglishmêk_ , and Bilbo kept half an eye on them, watching for signs he understood. So it was that he was the first to notice when Bifur frowned and shook his head, then made a series of gestures that included _not understand_ (one of the first phrases Bilbo had learned to sign, of course). Kili signed something back which was mostly incomprehensible to Bilbo, but included the question-sign, and Bifur signed _not understand_ again, and then a sign that Bilbo did not know. Kili repeated his question (or perhaps asked a completely different question; all Bilbo could tell about it was that it was a question), and Bifur frowned, then dropped his hands entirely and said something in the dwarvish language.

Fili looked up from the knife he was sharpening. “What's wrong with you two?” he asked, and Bilbo realised that he, too, had been paying at least some attention to the silent conversation.

Bifur turned and signed something at Fili, and Fili signed back and then strode round the table to sit by Kili. He signed _what say dwarf?_ to Kili, and Kili looked worried and signed what was presumably the same question for the third time. On Fili, though, it had a much more dramatic effect than on Bifur, for he sat very still for a moment, his eyes growing round and his face pale, and then he signed something back, and even Bilbo could tell the movements were clumsy and flustered. Bilbo got to his feet and crossed the hearth to them.

“Is something the matter?” he said, but Fili had his eyes fixed on Kili's fingers, and when Kili signed again, Fili suddenly half-collapsed, clutching at Bilbo's side.

“Fili!” Bilbo said, staggering a little under the dwarf's weight. “What has happened?” He glanced at Kili, but the little dwarf was just staring, wide-eyed, and clearly had not the first idea what was going on.

“The sign,” Fili said hoarsely. “The sign he used.”

“Yes, the _iglishmêk_ ,” Bilbo said. “What did he say?”

“It's not _iglishmêk_ ,” Fili said. He was still hanging onto Bilbo, his fingers digging painfully into the hobbit's arm, and now he looked up at him frantically. “Before, before we learned it,” he gabbled, “we used to pretend. We made the signs up, just the two of us. No-one ever knew them except us.”

Bilbo felt his mouth go dry. He stared at Kili and Kili stared back, looking quite worried now. “Are you saying-- ?” Bilbo started.

Fili did not reply, but suddenly lunged forward, sweeping Kili up into an embrace of extraordinary ferocity. Kili stared at Bilbo over Fili's shoulder, and Bilbo smiled and smiled at him until he thought his face might never be the same again.

“It's all right, my lad,” he said. “It's good. It's so very, very good.”

Fili buried his face in his brother's hair and put one hand behind his head, making a series of noises that might have been laughter and might have been tears. Kili's arms did not move from his sides, but he slowly seemed to relax a little, and he let his chin fall onto Fili's shoulder.

“Not understand,” he whispered. 

“You remembered, o my brother,” Fili said, his voice rough with tears and muffled by Kili's hair. “You remembered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! Now don't say I never give you anything.


	24. Chapter 24

Eventually, Bilbo managed to persuade Fili to disentangle himself from his brother and let the poor lad sit down. Fili's eyes were red, but he was alight with smiles, and Bilbo imagined that even should he wish to, he would not be able to banish them from his face, for that was certainly a condition Bilbo was suffering from at that moment. The other dwarves had clearly noticed something had happened, for when Fili and Bilbo sat down before Kili, there was a sound of redoubled scraping and sharpening and general industry behind them. 

“We should tell Thorin,” Fili said, but made no move to stand up and go to Thorin where he was engaged in discussion with Dwalin on the street outside.

“I rather think we should tell Kili, first,” Bilbo said, and indicated the little dwarf with his head. Kili sat, looking from one to the other with an expression of complete bemusement.

“Oh, yes!” Fili said, and laughed as if it was the greatest of jokes. “Kili does not even know!”

Bilbo did not miss the edge of hysteria in Fili's voice, and he patted his knee and then turned to Kili.

“Kili,” he said, “do you understand what happened?”

“Yes,” Kili said. “Fili sad. Fili is sad.” He looked at Fili and cocked his head on one side. “He not is look sad,” he said, and then shook his head. “No. Not understand.”

“You remembered something,” Bilbo said. “From before. From before the orcs.”

“Not have before orcs,” said Kili, and then frowned. “Remember? What I'm remember?”

Fili raised his hands and made the strange sign. Kili made it back at him, with the question sign, and Bilbo had to restrain Fili from leaping forward to hug his brother again. 

“That was it,” he said. “You remembered the sign.”

“Hand-speak word?” said Kili. “Bifur teach. He's teach all hand-speak, good teach.”

“No,” Fili said. “No, my brother. Bifur did not teach you that word. I taught it to you.”

Kili shook his head slowly. “You're not teach hand-speak,” he said. “Only Bifur.”

“I taught it to you more than fifty years ago,” Fili said. “In Ered Luin.”

“Fifty,” said Kili, as if trying to remember what the word meant, and then he suddenly scrabbled among his pictures and found the one of the two young dwarves. “Ered Lin?” he said, pointing at the picture.

“Yes,” Fili breathed. “Yes, Ered Luin. That is where I taught it to you, before the orcs. Before the orcs, my brother.”

Kili sat very still, staring at Fili. Then he looked quickly at the picture, and finally at Bilbo. 

“But I not remember Ered Lin,” he said. “Not remember. Not is in head. Why remember hand-speak word, not remember Fili?” He waved the picture at Bilbo. “Not remember!”

“Oh, my lad, I have no answers for you,” Bilbo said. “But this is very good, and we are happy, we are very happy that you remembered even a little bit.” He gestured at Fili's beaming face. “We are very happy.”

“Happy,” Kili muttered, and then stared at his hands and made the sign again (and Bilbo once more restrained Fili). “Remember.” He sounded wondering, as if it was the first time he had truly contemplated the idea that the life they told him about in Ered Luin was not simply a fairy story. Then nodded and looked up. “Is good,” he said. “Thank you Fili.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Fili asked.

“Give remember,” Kili said. “Teach word.”

He made the sign again, and this time, Bilbo did not hold Fili back.

\----

When Fili came back with Thorin, they made quite a pair. Fili was still beaming all over his face, his smile bright enough that it seemed to Bilbo they could have dispensed with candles all together, but Thorin -- Thorin looked dark and troubled, and Bilbo braced himself, for he did not know why the dwarf king might wear that expression on receipt of such marvellous news, but he felt sure it could herald nothing good.

Thorin sat down heavily before Kili and put his hands on his knees. “Good evening, Kili,” he said. “Your brother tells me you have remembered something.”

Kili looked suddenly uncertain, glancing away from Thorin at Bilbo. Bilbo did not even need to conjure up a smile for him, for the one he had worn since Fili told him the significance of the sign had not yet faded, and in truth, Bilbo's cheeks were beginning to feel quite sore. “Show Thorin,” he said. “Show him what you remembered.”

Kili glanced quickly at Thorin, and then away, and then back again. He made the sign, and Thorin frowned down at his hands. “What is that?” he said. “It is not _iglishmêk_.”

“No,” Fili said, looking immensely pleased with himself. “It is ours, mine and Kili's. It was ours, before.”

Thorin glanced at him, then looked over at Bifur. He made a series of signs, including Kili's one and the question-sign, and Bifur signed back and then gave a shrug. Then Thorin turned to Kili.

“Where did you learn this?” he asked, and made the sign again. 

“Fili do teach,” said Kili.

“When?” Thorin asked. 

Kili shook his head. “Not know when,” he said. “Not remember teach. I'm just know.”

An extraordinary sequence of emotions passed across Thorin's face, then, beginning with hope, passing through what seemed to be a number of stages of disbelief, and ending, again, with hope. “Can there be a mistake?” he said to Fili. “Is there any possibility that he learned it some other way?”

“No, uncle,” Fili said. “There is no mistake.”

Thorin sat for a moment, as if carved from stone. Then he raised his hands, palms outwards.

“I bear no weapon,” he said to Kili, the words carrying an oddly formal cadence. “May I touch you?”

Kili hesitated, his eyes darting to Bilbo. Bilbo nodded at him (he was still smiling, of course), and Kili looked back at Thorin and gave a cautious nod.

Thorin leaned forward, then, and placed a gentle hand on the back of Kili's neck, and he pressed their foreheads together in that dwarvish gesture of affection that somehow seemed more intimate even than a kiss. He closed his eyes, and Kili, though tense indeed, did not try to pull away.

“Well done, my nephew,” Thorin murmured. “Well done.”

\----

That night, Fili was loud and bright in a way that Bilbo had never seen before, drinking and joking and laughing loudly enough that all the dwarves seemed a little startled, though once the news of what had happened with Kili spread through their ranks, they all became quite raucous (and impressively drunk). Bilbo watched and wondered if this was what he had been like, before the orcs had changed all their lives. He himself began to find it all rather a headache, and it quickly became clear that the increased noise and hilarity was making Kili nervous and agitated, and so Bilbo took him up to bed early, smiling at Fili as he toasted them and hoping that he would at least have the sense to stop before he lost his dinner. Not that Bilbo begrudged him a night of abandon, not in the least; after all, such things were the preserve of the young, and Fili had surely seen far fewer such nights than any dwarf his age might expect.

Upstairs, Kili tried to teach him a few words of _iglishmêk_ , but neither of them seemed able to concentrate very well, and so they gave the project up in short order. Kili sat twitching on the bed, and Bilbo paced and wondered if he would ever be able to sleep. Eventually, he sat down facing Kili and sighed.

“Well, it is all very good,” he said. “But I'm afraid it's no good for my delicate constitution!” Perhaps he should have had a tankard or two of ale himself.

“Hobbit,” said Kili, “when I'm remember more?”

“I don't know,” Bilbo said. “I don't know if you will remember more at all. But it seems at least that some things are still tucked away in that strange little head of yours. Who knows what else may be there?”

Kili looked discontented. “I'm remember speak hobbit-speak?” he said. “Learn is long. Hobbit think I'm remember?”

“Oh, I don't know, Kili,” Bilbo said. “I have never met anyone who has forgotten quite so much as you before! I don't know what will happen.”

Kili tapped his fingers on his knee. Bilbo had never seen him quite so active, except when he was in the grip of a shaking fit. “Hobbit,” he said, “why wrong eat man die?” 

A little surprised at the rapid change of subject, Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “Well, now, master dwarf,” he said. “I am quite sure you can do better than that.”

Kili stared at him, but then he laid his hands on his knees and seemed to draw a deep breath, the twitching slowly subsiding. “Why is wrong--” he started, and then stopped. “Why it is wrong eat--” he screwed up his face a moment “--man-is-die man.” He shrugged helplessly. “Know is wrong. Not know word.”

“Dead,” said Bilbo. “Dead man. Why is it wrong to eat a dead man.”

“Yes,” Kili said. “Why it is wrong eat dead man. Why?”

Bilbo blew out his breath and considered focussing further on the minutiae of the grammar (though he had serious doubts about whether Kili would ever grasp _a_ and _the_ , for he had shown no sign as yet that he had even noticed they existed), if only to avoid answering the question. But that was the coward's way out, and, although Bilbo was not exactly the bravest of creatures, he felt it would be unfair to Kili to leave him thus in the dark after this afternoon's incident with the funeral. So he collected his courage and patience together and nodded.

“Kili,” he said, “if I died, would you want to eat me?” It was something of a gamble, for if the answer was positive Bilbo did not know how he would feel about it, but after the last week, after everything that had happened, he thought -- he hoped -- he knew what the answer would be.

Kili sat still and seemed to think about this, all traces of nervous energy gone now. “Hobbit is small,” he decided finally. “Not many food. I'm not eat.”

Bilbo almost chuckled at this, for it was such a neat evasion of the question. “Ah,” he said, rolling his sleeve up and pinching the fat of his arm, which was sadly less than it had been that spring when he had stepped out of his front door after the dwarves, but had at least increased a little during their stay in Lake-Town, “I may be small, but I am quite fleshy, you see! I think I would be enough for at least one good meal for a sturdy dwarf such as yourself.”

Kili looked unhappy. “Many words not know,” he muttered, but then shook his head. “No, not -- not want eat hobbit. Not want. Is bad.”

“Why is it bad?” Bilbo asked.

Kili sat quiet for a moment or two. “Not know,” he said finally. “I'm not know.”

“Well, hm,” Bilbo said. “How would you feel if I died?”

“Not die,” Kili said, starting to sound quite upset now. “I'm not want hobbit die, why ask? Hobbit not die.”

“No, no, I'm not planning to die any time soon,” Bilbo said soothingly, patting his arm. “But _why_ don't you want me to die? It's not easy, I know, but just think about it for a moment.”

Kili did think, for more than a moment, and Bilbo sat patiently and wondered if perhaps it was too soon for all of this. But finally, the little dwarf seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. “Hobbit is friend,” he said. “Hobbit is not do know Kili before, is friend only like. Hobbit help, is good. Hobbit die is, is--” he shook his head.

“You would be sad,” Bilbo said, “if I died. Isn't that right? You would be sad?”

“Sad,” Kili said thoughtfully, then stared at Bilbo. “Is sad? Is mean sad?”

“Yes, my lad,” said Bilbo. “That is what _sad_ is.”

This sent Kili off into another fit of contemplation, and Bilbo began to wonder if it would be a good idea to bring a book to these conversations. His attention was starting to wander when Kili nodded.

“I'm not eat hobbit, sad,” he said.

“You would not eat me _because_ you would be sad,” Bilbo said, wondering when it had become normal for him to consider such unpleasant sentences first and foremost for their value as language-teaching tools.

“Because, yes,” said Kili. “I'm not want eat hobbit because sad.”

“And what if the men wanted to eat me?” Bilbo asked. “After all, they are not my friends. What would you think, if I died -- no, Kili, I am not going to die in the next five minutes -- and then they wanted to eat me?” 

Kili looked quite distressed. “Sad,” he said. “Not want men eat hobbit.”

“Well, then!” Bilbo said. “That is why it is bad to eat the dead. Because all folk that die have friends who will miss them, who will be sad that they are gone.”

“All?” Kili asked. “All have friends?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said firmly. “All hobbits have friends, all dwarves have friends, all elves have friends, all men have friends.”

“Orcs not have friends,” Kili said. 

“No,” Bilbo agreed. “Orcs do not have friends.”

Kili looked quite troubled, and Bilbo waited for another question, but it did not come. In fact, no words came at all, although it was clear the little dwarf was still thinking about what Bilbo had said, and when Bilbo was awakened much later by Fili stumbling drunkenly into the room, he saw that Kili was still staring into the darkness, deep in thought.

\----

The next morning, Ori appeared at the alcove where Bilbo and Kili sat, looking rather nervous, and with a new drawing in his hand.

“I hope it's what you wanted, Kili,” he said, handing it over. “I give it to you,” he added quickly, for Kili still seemed to assume that the drawings were not his unless someone specifically told him they were.

“Thank you Ori,” said Kili automatically, and then he turned the picture over and inspected it eagerly. “Hobbit!” he said happily, but then he paused and his eyes grew wide.

“Is something wrong?” Ori asked, looking uneasily at Bilbo.

Kili looked up, then, showing Bilbo the picture. “Look, hobbit, look!” he said urgently. “I'm in picture!”

Bilbo looked, and smiled at what he saw. The picture was a woodland scene, and Kili sat at the base of a tree, wearing what was clearly Bombur's old undershirt and looking a little bedraggled and untidy. Bilbo sat beside him, gesturing with his pipe with one hand and pointing at a flower that grew on the forest floor with the other. His face was turned towards Kili and he was clearly speaking to him. For his part, Kili was frowning at the flower with fierce concentration. 

“Oh, Master Ori,” he said. “How perfect!”

Ori looked delighted, but Kili still seemed to be trying to catch Bilbo's attention. “Hobbit,” he said. “I'm in picture.”

“You are in all the pictures, Kili,” Bilbo said. “Well, almost all.”

“Kili, yes, yes,” Kili said, gesturing at the pile of pictures laid on the table before him. “Kili in all pictures.” He glanced quickly at Ori. “Good pictures, thank you Ori,” he said, and then turned back to Bilbo. “I'm in picture,” he said, and pointed at the image of himself. “I'm in picture.”

Ori looked worried. “Doesn't he like it?” he asked. “Don't you like it, Kili?”

Kili's eyes widened again. “Yes, like!” he said. “Very good picture, more very good, very thank you Ori!” 

“Well, I don't understand,” Ori decided. “But I'm glad you like it.”

“Like,” said Kili, nodding vigorously. “Very like, very good.”

Bilbo laughed. “I hope you are this happy with everything you ever commission,” he said, and he waited for Kili to tell him he didn't understand. But Kili was too busy staring hungrily at his new picture, and he did not reply.

\----

That evening was an altogether less boisterous affair than the one before, for many of the dwarves were still nursing sore heads, or at least rather worn out. Fili had at some point in the day insisted that Kili shift over in his alcove so that there was space beside him on his bench for a second dwarf, and since then he had sat next to his brother, smoking and putting his feet up on the table and putting in the occasional unhelpful comment to Bilbo's explanations of fine linguistic detail. Mostly, though, he just smiled, and pressed his shoulder against Kili's, and Kili, for his part, seemed not unhappy with the arrangement most of the time. Some time around sunset, Fili dozed off, his head descending onto Kili's shoulder, and this Kili did seem rather upset by, so Bilbo found a pillow and wedged it against the wall on Fili's other side and encouraged his head in that direction instead. The other dwarves grinned and made fun, but quietly enough that it was clear they did not want to wake him, and by the time Bilbo was thinking about going to bed, Ori had almost finished a sketch of the scene.

The sketch was never completed, though, for Bilbo was just climbing to his feet when there came a hammering at the street door. Immediately, every dwarf in the room was on his feet, with the exception of Fili, who was just blinking awake, and Kili, who shrank back into the shadows.

“Dwalin,” Thorin said, “go and tell them to be off. Mr. Baggins, just in case.” 

Bilbo nodded, and brushed Kili's hair quickly over his face. Fili stood and moved between both of them and the door.

There was the sound of the street door being unbolted, and Dwalin's grumbling voice, sounding rather surprised. A second voice, high and clear, was certainly not the Master, nor even a man at all, and Bilbo cocked his head on one side and was wondering where he'd heard it before when there was the sound of footsteps mounting the stairs -- Dwalin's, but also someone else's, someone much lighter and less heavily-shod -- and moments later, Tilda burst into the room, her hair escaping from under her hood in tendrils and her eyes wide and worried. Dwalin came behind her, his gaze going straight to Bilbo.

“This one says she has an urgent message for a bobbit,” he said.

“Oh, Mr. Baggins!” Tilda said. “It's so awful! They're saying you killed him!”

“What?” said Bilbo, uncomfortably aware that everyone in the room had turned to stare at him. “Killed who?”

“Ulf!” Tilda said, as if that explained everything. “They're saying you set your goblin on him to tear out his throat! Mr. Baggins, they're saying you murdered him!”

Silence fell across the room, and Bilbo felt his throat go dry. Thorin turned to glower at him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“There is no meaning!” Bilbo said. “I do not even know an Ulf, and K-- and, and the prisoner has not set foot out of this house since we arrived, as you all know. I have no idea what any of this means!”

Tilda nodded furiously. “I know you didn't do it, Mr. Baggins,” she said, “but the soldiers are coming to get you!”

That was enough to galvanise Thorin into action. “Dwalin, Fili,” he said sharply. “Take Mr. Baggins and -- the prisoner. The bridge will be being watched, you must find someone with a boat who is willing to ferry you. We will follow you as soon as we can. Tell him to say he ferried you over -- when was it that the man was killed?”

“Two nights ago,” Tilda said.

“Two nights ago, aye,” said Thorin. “Then say that, and make sure he says it was before the murder.”

“My Da's got a boat!” Tilda said. “He'll take you, I know he will!”

Thorin glanced at her, then at Bilbo. “You know the girl's father?”

Bilbo nodded. “I've met him once,” he said.

“Do you trust him?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo hesitated, and Thorin's brows drew down.

“What choice do we have?” Dwalin asked, and then glanced at Tilda and said something quite aggressive-sounding in the dwarvish language. Thorin nodded.

“See that you do,” he said.

And then Dwalin and Fili were strapping on weapons with urgent fingers, and Bilbo took Kili's arm and tugged him to his feet.

“We have to go,” he said, bewildered by how quickly things had changed. “We have to go.”

Kili nodded and bowed his head, and looked back only to glance at the pile of pictures he had left on the table, before all of them plunged into the dimness of the stairwell, following Tilda as she hurried downwards.

\----

The streets were empty at this time of night, for it was an ordinary working day and there was no holiday in the morning. Tilda hurried them to the corner, and they turned it just in time, for they were only half-way down the next walkway when they heard the sound of someone banging on the door of the dwarves' house. Tilda doubled her pace, glancing back nervously, and Bilbo put one hand on Kili's back, for he was sure the little dwarf could hardly see through all that hair.

They slipped through the streets by the darkest and narrowest walkways, a winding way that had Bilbo quickly lost and Dwalin grumbling softly, but that avoided any street with passers-by, and Bilbo was both relieved and curious about how Tilda knew so well just what to do. And then, finally, they rounded a corner and came upon the house that Bilbo recognised as Bard's, and Tilda raced up the steps before them and hammered on the door.

It was flung open by Sigrid, who looked simultaneously relieved and furious. “Tilda!” she said. “Where have you been? We were so--” And then she stopped, eyes round, as the rest of them arrived behind her sister on the balcony.

“Hello, Sigrid,” Bilbo said.

“Da?” said Sigrid faintly.

Bard appeared in the doorway, then, and his eyes did not grow round, but instead narrowed in anger.

“Sigrid,” he said. “Fetch me the carving knife.”

Sigrid whirled to do his bidding, and Bilbo felt Dwalin bristle behind him.

“Now see here,” he said, raising his hands placatingly. “There is no need for that, Mr. Bard. We are here only to seek your help.”

“My help, is it?” Bard said. “You kidnap my daughter, you bring whatever that dwarf is to my doorstep, and you want my help?”

“No-one kidnapped me!” Tilda said. “I went to tell Mr. Baggins they were after him, and he needed a boat, so I said you would help! They'll string him up, you know they will, and he came to tea with us and told such lovely stories, Da!”

“Tilda, come here,” Bard said, grabbing his daughter by the arm and hauling her into the house. 

“If you will not help us, we will go elsewhere,” Bilbo said, though he had no idea where else they could go. “But do not call the soldiers, I beg of you. We have murdered no-one, I swear.”

Bard leaned out of the door, then, looking left and right down the street, and then shook his head and stepped back from the door.

“Come in,” he said. “And be quick about it!”

The four of them tumbled into Bard's house, and he closed the door behind them, but when they turned, he had the wicked-looking carving knife in his hands, and had placed himself between his children and the dwarves.

“Explain to me why the Master is calling for your heads,” he said.

Bilbo took a breath. “I don't know,” he said. “I can only tell you I have killed no-one, and I know no Ulf, and even if I did I would never think to murder him!”

Bard straightened a little. “I know you did not murder him,” he said.

“You know?” said Bilbo. “How?”

“Everybody knows,” Bard said. “Ulf died because of a disagreement about who was going to pay for his beer. Everybody knows that, or at least, they did until a few hours ago when the soldiers started talking about goblins and hobbits.”

Bilbo gaped, and Bard raised his knife. “So I ask you again, Mr. Baggins,” he said, “what is it about you and your prisoner that has the Master so eager to clap you in irons?”

Bilbo honestly had no answer to that, and he was about to say as much when Fili stepped forward. 

“He is not our prisoner,” he said, ignoring Dwalin's warning murmur. “He's my brother.” And he brushed Kili's hair back from his face, so all might see that he was just a dwarf, nothing more.

If Bard was surprised, he did an excellent job of hiding it. “Have the dwarves changed so much since my grandfather's day that brother now drags brother through the country in chains?” he asked.

“I did not put the chains there,” Fili said. “They are there because the orcs like to be able to keep hold of their prisoners.” He held Bard's gaze, steady and sure. 

“Mr. Bard, please,” said Bilbo. “The poor lad is not well. We only thought to protect him, to keep him away from the men of the town.”

“And so you doomed him with the very breath you meant to protect him,” Bard said slowly. “For now the Master thinks he is the key to Erebor.”

“What?” Bilbo said, now quite confused.

“You told him that this dwarf had information, did you not?” Bard said. “That, at least, is what the whispers have been. That the goblin knows something, or the dwarves would not drag him around with them.”

“Why would they care about what information he might have?” Fili asked, and Bard laughed a hard laugh.

“I knew dwarves were stubborn, but I had not taken them for fools,” he said. “Do you think none have noticed how small your party is? And yet you claim you will take Erebor! They say you must know something, something that is the key to taking back the mountain. To taking back the gold.”

“The Master wants to take it instead,” breathed Fili, and Dwalin growled, deep in his throat.

Bilbo groaned. “And I told him I was the only one who could understand Kili!” he said, finally grasping just how they had all blindly stumbled into this trap.

Bard squared his shoulders. “You are the authors of your own misfortune,” he said. “It is always thus with dwarves.”

Bilbo's mouth dropped open, for it seemed to him that Bard was about to refuse them his help. But it was Fili who spoke.

“Maybe it was our fault,” he said, “though we certainly did not intend for any of this to happen. But I was only trying to protect my brother, Mr. Bard. That is all I have ever wanted to do.”

“You'll help them, won't you Da?” 

It was Sigrid's voice, and Bard turned to look at her, where she stood with one arm around Bain and the other around Tilda, hugging them tight to her. “Won't you help them?” she said.

Bard turned back, and now he knelt, peering into Kili's face. “And you, master dwarf,” he said. “Do you agree with what your companions have said? Do you go with them of your own free will?”

Kili did not reply, his eyes fixed on the floor, and Bilbo shook his arm desperately. “Kili,” he said. “You must speak to the man. Please! You must help us!”

Kili peered sideways at Bilbo. “Not understand,” he whispered. “What say?”

“He wants to know if we are your friends,” Bilbo said. 

Kili muttered something, and Bilbo nudged him, harder perhaps than was quite justified. “Louder, Kili,” he said.

Kili raised his head a little, then, and though he did not look Bard in the face, his voice was clear and firm. “Dwarfs friends,” he said. “Hobbit friend. Fili is my brother.”

Bard stood then, peering down at Kili curiously. Then he turned to his daughter. “Sigrid,” he said, “I am going fishing. I will be gone all night. You have seen no dwarves today, but two nights ago I accepted a commission to take a party of four across the lake. We left at sunset. I was promised a handsome reward.” He glanced at Dwalin as he said this last, and Dwalin gave the smallest of nods. “Then come with me,” he said. “And make haste!”

\----

Bard's boat was moored to the narrow wooden walkway that ran along the back of his house at water level. It was broad and long, not one of the little row-boats that Bilbo had seen so many of on his wanderings round the town, but a boat with a mast and sails, and therefore quite sturdy. And very glad Bilbo was of that fact, too, for he did not like boats at the best of times, and he liked little boats even less. And this was certainly not the best of times.

Bilbo was rather worried about how they might be able to persuade Kili onto the boat, but in the end Dwalin solved the problem by picking him up bodily and stepping easily over the watery gap onto the deck. Kili made no protest, but went immediately to the very centre of the boat when he was set once more on his feet, and placed his back against the mast. Bard busied himself preparing to cast off, and Bilbo found himself transfixed by the sight of the Lonely Mountain looming above them, its snow-covered peak bright in the moonlight.

But then there came voices and lights from inside the house, and Bard looked up sharply.

“I can't get us away before they come out here,” he said. “There are ropes hanging on the starboard side. Let yourselves down into the water, and duck your heads under if you see a lantern coming close.”

Bilbo and Fili exchanged wide-eyed glances at that. “Is there no other way?” Bilbo asked. “Nowhere else we might hide?”

“There is no time, Mr. Baggins!” Bard said. “If they find you here, we are all done for.” He jumped off the boat. “I will delay them as long as I can, but you must hide!”

He raced up the steps to the house, and Bilbo hurried over to Kili.

“Kili,” he said, “we are going to have to go in the water. I am sorry. Please don't be frightened, no-one will hurt you.” And he grabbed the little dwarf's arm and tugged him towards the far side of the boat. Kili came with him easily enough, but as soon as he saw the water, he baulked, and would not move a step further. Fili urged him on in frantic whispers, and Bilbo hauled on his arm with all his might, but in the end it was once again Dwalin who saved the day, for with a muttered word of apology he wrapped one arm round Kili's chest, pinning his arms to his sides, and clamped the other hand over his mouth, then somehow climbed down the rope that hung over the side using only his feet and the hand that was not keeping Kili silent. Fili looked stricken, but he climbed down after Dwalin, and Bilbo looked over the side to see all three of them submerged up to their shoulders, Kili struggling as much as he could, eyes wide and staring, and Dwalin grimly hanging onto him.

“I'll put on the ring,” Bilbo said. “If any of them come too close, I will put my hand on your head.” And he slipped on the ring, then climbed over the side himself, though he was able to cling to the rope above the water-line and thus stay dry.

And not a moment too soon, for at that instant the door to the house opened, and Bard re-emerged, followed down the steps by a party of soldiers.

“And as you can see, I have caught nothing yet, since I have not even set off,” he said, “and that is why I have not paid the toll.”

The soldiers grunted and stepped onto the boat, peering around with their lanterns into every corner, though the deck was clean and tidy and there was little to be seen.

“And what about the dwarves?” one of the soldiers asked. “Have you paid the toll on what they gave you?”

“They have given me nothing, as yet,” Bard said. “I am told I will be richly rewarded when they regain their gold. It will be a glorious day indeed when the King Under the Mountain sits once more on his throne!” The words were inoffensive enough, but the tone was rather cynical, and one of the soldiers made an unimpressed noise.

“And you say you ferried them over at midnight?” said the first soldier. 

“I said sunset,” Bard said, “because sunset it was.”

There was a pause, and then the soldier said, “Well, be sure to pay your toll as soon as you return.”

“I always do,” said Bard, and Bilbo thought, he thought just for a moment that they would get away with it, for although Kili looked frightened, he did not yet look frantic, and if they could get him out of the water without putting his head under--

\--and then Bilbo's grip on the rope slipped, and he dropped half an inch before his half-numb hands found purchase again. It was such a tiny thing, just half an inch, but it made a noise, a little thud as Bilbo's knuckle hit the side of the boat, and the footsteps of the soldiers suddenly stopped moving away.

“Did you hear something?” one of them asked.

“I heard nothing,” Bard said. “Only the wind.”

“Wait a moment,” came the soldier's voice, and then Bilbo saw the lantern bobbing in his direction, and with cold dread in his heart he reached down and placed a hand on Fili's head. He did not look down at them, could not bear to watch Kili slide under the water, and instead he stared at the lantern as it swung out over the side, not even looking at the man who held it, but only the light itself, willing it to disappear, to leave them to friendly darkness where no-one was trying to arrest them and there was no need to subject anyone to their worst fear.

It cannot have been more than half a minute that the man held the lantern over the side, although to Bilbo it felt like a great deal longer. He peered up and down, looking straight through Bilbo, of course, and the murky green waters of the lake gave up no secrets. And then he shrugged and withdrew, and Bilbo waited second after agonising second until he heard the door to the house close, and then he was down the rope in an instant, plunging his hand into the water and hauling on the first solid thing his grasping fingers encountered. It was Fili, who erupted from the water with a great gasp, and then immediately dived back down, coming up a second later with Dwalin in tow, Kili still held tightly in his arms. The little dwarf's eyes were open, and he did not struggle, but simply let Dwalin carry him back up the rope, and a moment later Bard was there, helping to haul them all back over the side.

They lay in a sodden, gasping heap on the deck of the boat, and, once Bard had assured himself all were breathing, he went quickly about his task and they were cast off and moving out before Bilbo had even managed to sit up himself. When he did, he saw that Dwalin was already clambering to his feet, but Fili was kneeling over his brother, who lay on his side in the bottom of the boat, staring at the deck. “Kili,” Fili said. “Kili, are you all right?”

Kili made no response, nor even moved a muscle, and Fili manhandled him into a sitting position and sat behind him, supporting Kili's back against his chest. Kili sat limp against him, staring at nothing now, and Bilbo crept forward and knelt before him, shaking his arm.

“Come on, my lad,” he said. “Come on, now. I know you were frightened, but we didn't do it to punish you, and you're safe now. You're safe.”

But Kili simply sat slumped against his brother and stared, not at Bilbo nor even at the floor, but at nothing at all. His eyes did not drift as they had in the dungeons, and he did not bow his head, did not even seem to have the strength to move it at all, but let it loll back against Fili's shoulder. If his eyes had not been open, Bilbo would have said he was asleep, or unconscious. But they were open, and Bilbo did not know what he was.

“What is wrong with him, Mr. Baggins?” Fili asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Bilbo sat heavily on the deck, staring up at the moonlit mountain that drew ever closer. How far they had come, how far indeed! And yet now it seemed that they were further from their goal than ever.

“I don't know, master dwarf,” he said. “I don't know.”


	25. Chapter 25

Kili did not recover as the boat slid silently onwards. Fili and Bilbo tried all they could think of to arouse him from his stupor, whispering, shouting, singing, shaking, even slapping the little dwarf in the face. But nothing had the slightest effect, and by the time the lights of Lake-Town had shrunk to pin-pricks across the water, Fili had sunk into despair. He sat with his back against the low side of the boat, Kili leaning back against his chest, and he stared at Bilbo with eyes too wide, the whites bright in the moonlight.

“What if he doesn't wake up?” he asked, sounding never more like a child.

“He will, my dear lad,” Bilbo said. “Of course he will wake.”

Fili did not respond to this, but he clung to his brother as if it was he who had the fear of drowning, and his head sank until his forehead was pressed against Kili's shoulder. It was almost like a grotesque parody of how they had sat earlier that very evening, Kili awake and alert and Fili pressed up against him, sleeping on his shoulder. It sometimes seemed to Bilbo that the world had a very unpleasant sense of irony.

After a while, it seemed that Fili had fallen asleep, and Kili, of course, might have been asleep or awake and seemed in fact to be neither, his head lolling back on his brother's shoulder and his eyes staring at nothing. The night was chill, autumn drawing now to a close, and Bilbo took off his jacket, which was still mostly dry aside from one sleeve where he had reached into the water after the dwarves, and spread it carefully across the two of them. It barely even covered Kili, narrow though his shoulders were for a dwarf, but it was all that Bilbo could offer.

Finally, he could bear to watch no longer, but stood and made his way cautiously to where Bard stood by the tiller, clinging to some fixed object at all times, though the lake was flat as glass and there was barely a breath of wind. What wind there was blew in the wrong direction, and it seemed for every yard they drew closer to the mountain, they travelled a hundred or more sidewards to it. 

“It will be a long journey,” Bilbo said. 

“It is not a good night for sailing,” Bard replied. “A good night for fishing -- see how they jump in the moonlight!”

Bilbo watched, and saw the surface of the water broken again and again as the fish leapt up after the last dancing insects of the year. It was a beautiful sight indeed, but his spirits were too low to really enjoy it.

“Your friend,” said Bard. “Why does he not wake?”

“I'm blessed if I know,” Bilbo said. “I've not seen this before.” Other things, yes, unsettling things, but not this, not this seeming suspension somewhere between life and death.

“I have known men who spent too long under water,” Bard said. “They lived, but never woke again. But I do not think he was under the surface for long enough, and the other two seem none the worse for wear.”

“No,” Bilbo sighed, “it is not that. I told you he is not well.”

“You did,” said Bard. “In that, at least, it seems you spoke the truth.”

They lapsed into silence, then and Bilbo stood and watched the glassy water slip by, and the fish jumping, and the mountain that stood above all, watchful, waiting.

Fili slept on, and Kili stared, and Dwalin sat on the deck on the opposite side of the boat and watched them both, never taking his eyes from them. As the moon began to sink towards the mountain, the cold silver fire of its snowy peak became quite an astounding sight, and Bilbo found himself approaching Dwalin and sitting down beside him.

“Your mountain looks very fine tonight,” he said. 

Dwalin spared a glance for the mountain, in all its ghostly splendour. 

“Aye,” he said, turning his eyes back to Fili and Kili. “It is a cold comfort.”

Bilbo sighed. “Kili will wake,” he said. “He has survived much worse than this.”

Dwalin did not reply for a moment, and when he did, he did not look at Bilbo.

“That is a cold comfort, too, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

\----

They reached the opposite shore in the coldest hours before dawn, and Bard made fast the boat and then leaned down to shake Fili by the shoulder.

“Wake up, master dwarf,” he said. “You will soon be back on dry land.”

He wrapped his arms around Kili and tried to lift him away from his brother, and Fili, raising his head and blinking sleep from his eyes, held tight.

“I will carry him,” he said, his voice rough.

“You have been sitting still in wet clothes for hours,” Bard said. “I will be surprised if you can walk yourself.”

And so it proved, for once Bard had lifted Kili into his arms, it took both Dwalin and Bilbo to help Fili to his feet and get him off the boat, and the three of them stumbled after Bard as he led them up a steep slope into the edge of a forest. It was a pleasant forest, open and green, not like the tangled boughs of Mirkwood, and Bard led them to a broad, flat plateau and laid Kili gently on the ground.

“This is far enough that your campfire will not be seen from the lake,” he said.

Fili dropped to his knees beside his brother and took him under the arms, dragging him to the nearest tree. He set his back against it and pulled Kili up so they were sitting as they had on the boat. 

“You will only find yourself stiff and sore again, master dwarf,” said Bard.

Fili met his stare with a half-dazed one of his own. “He doesn't like to lie down,” he mumbled.

Bard shrugged. “Have it your way,” he said, and turned to go. Bilbo followed him a little way down the slope.

“Thank you, Mr. Bard,” he said. “You have done more than anyone could have asked of you. And if you can find a way to tell our friends where we are, I would be most grateful.”

Bard eyed him up and down. “I would not leave you this way,” he said, casting a glance back to where Fili and Kili sat. “It does not seem right.”

“You will do us a much greater service by telling our friends where we are than by staying to be one more helpless onlooker,” Bilbo said. “Unless you know of any way to heal a wounded mind.”

“A mind?” said Bard. “No. Give me an arm or a leg, even a heart, and I might try, at least. A mind must heal itself, or not be healed at all.”

Bilbo nodded, for it was nothing he did not know. “Will you thank Tilda and Sigrid for me?” he said. “And Bain too, of course. Your children do you great credit.”

“That they do,” Bard said. “And now I must catch some fish so that they are not without food tonight. Goodbye, Mr. Baggins. If I can, I will bring your friends back to you myself. If not, should I tell them of your friend's malady?”

Bilbo considered a moment, then shook his head. “If fortune smiles, he'll rouse himself before they arrive,” he said. “There is no need to worry them yet.”

“Then I hope fortune smiles, master hobbit,” said Bard. And with one more glance back at the dwarves, he made his way back down the slope towards the lake.

\----

It was a long, dreary day of waiting, and Kili did not wake up. Fili, though awake, sank into a strange kind of fugue state that was not at all far from his brother's, so that Bilbo wondered if he was trying to follow him to wherever it was he had gone. Dwalin stood silent watch, and so it fell to Bilbo to try and keep all their spirits up, and he chattered and sang about anything and everything he could think of, until he had quite exhausted himself. Eventually, he fell asleep, for he had not slept at all the night before, and neither the night nor the day that followed had been easy.

He woke towards evening, when the shadows were grown long, to find that Dwalin was staring at something through the trees,

“A ship,” he said. “It is Bard.”

Fili would not leave Kili, of course, and Dwalin would leave neither of them, so it fell to Bilbo to clamber back down the slope and meet the ship, and when it ground up on the shore, he saw ten dwarves peering out at him, and Thorin Oakenshield was the first onto dry land.

“Thorin!” cried Bilbo. “I think I have never been more pleased to see you.”

“I will take that as a compliment, Mr. Baggins,” said Thorin, with a measure of good humour, and Bilbo remembered that of course he did not yet know of his nephew's condition. Bard leapt ashore, then, and Thorin turned to him.

“I am in your debt, Bard of Lake-Town,” he said.

“I will not forget it, Thorin King Under the Mountain,” Bard replied.

Thori gave him a grave nod, and then turned to help the other dwarves bring the supplies ashore. Bilbo turned to Bard.

“Did you have any trouble getting them out?” he asked.

“None at all,” said Bard. “Once it became clear that there would be no laying hands on the prisoner, the Master became quite eager to please your king once more. After all, it is now the only way he will see any of the gold.”

“And Ulf?” Bilbo asked.

“Ulf died in a bar brawl,” Bard said, and Bilbo thought he saw a spark of amusement in the man's grim face. “Everybody knows that.”

“I hope the Master is not angry with you,” Bilbo said then.

“The Master is always angry with me,” said Bard. “But I do not break any laws, and I pay my tolls, and he cannot touch me.” He glanced up towards the forest, then. “And your friend?”

“The same,” Bilbo said with a sigh. 

Bard dug in his pocket, holding out a little bottle. “Sigrid asked me to give this to you,” he said. “She says two drops on the tongue will wake even Bain when he has spent all night in the tavern.” He shrugged. “I do not think it will work, but she made me promise I would pass it on to you.”

Bilbo took the bottle and gave a quick bow. “Give her my thanks,” he said. “And tell her -- tell her I am sorry to have brought such trouble to your doorstep, and I hope we meet again some day, under happier circumstances. Tell them all.” 

Bard nodded gravely. “I cannot say I am glad to have met you, Bilbo Baggins,” he said. “But I wish you well, and I hope your friend recovers.”

He turned back to his boat, now empty of dwarves, and he had set foot on the deck when Bilbo called to him.

“Why did you help us, Mr. Bard?” he asked.

Bard looked back at him. “My daughter is an excellent judge of character,” he said, and disappeared behind the sail of his boat.

Thorin came to Bilbo then and clapped him on the shoulder. “And how fare my nephews?” he said.

Bilbo sighed. “There is something I must tell you,” he said.

\----

Oin poked and prodded Kili, peered into his eyes and ears and checked his fingernails and toenails and finally announced that he could see nothing wrong with the lad at all, besides the obvious fact that his mind seemed to have gone somewhere else. He laid some herbs on Kili's tongue and a poultice on his forehead, and Bilbo dropped two drops of Sigrid's potion into his mouth, and then three, and four, but nothing seemed to make any difference at all. Thorin stood, his face set in bleak lines, and Fili sat and stared as though he was not entirely sure where he was, and all the cheer of their warm, bright days in Lake-Town seemed to evaporate as the sun set beyond the lake.

“Balin,” said Thorin. “How many days?”

“Six,” Balin said. 

“And we are fifteen leagues from the gates of Erebor,” Thorin said. “Six days.” He stared at Kili. “If we only had a pony.” 

“He doesn't like ponies,” Fili said absently. Thorin's mouth twisted.

“No,” he said. “Well, since we have none, that is not a concern.”

“I will carry him if it is needed,” Dwalin said, and Thorin turned to him and laid a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“I know you will, old friend,” he said, and then looked back at Kili. “Six days.”

“We can spare one,” Balin said. “If it is needed.”

“It will be a hard march if we do,” Thorin said. 

“It would be a hard march if we had a hundred days,” Balin said. 

Thorin stood a moment in thought. “We will wait until morning to decide,” he said. “Perhaps he will have roused himself by then.”

\----

The evening was not much more pleasant than the day. In fact, it might have been less so, for thirteen dismal dwarves make for a much greater weight of gloom than three. Ori came to sit beside Bilbo after their cheerless supper, and he stared miserably at Kili, who still sat propped against his brother on the other side of the fire.

“It's awful,” he said.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “Yes, it is, rather.” He patted Ori's knee, but could think of no words of comfort for him.

Ori hunched his shoulders and drew a sheaf of papers from his pack. “I saved these for him,” he said. “I don't know-- do you want them?” 

Bilbo took the papers and saw that the top one was the picture of him and Kili. He smiled at it and tried to remember how long ago it had been that Kili had been so enthralled by it. Could it have been only yesterday? Surely it was much longer ago, and yet when Bilbo counted the nights that had passed he realised that it was not. 

“You should keep them, Master Ori,” he said. “You can give them back to him yourself when he's better. He will be delighted that you brought them away with you.”

Ori took the pictures back and stowed them carefully in his pack once more. “But he will get better, Mr. Baggins?” he said.

“Yes, my lad,” Bilbo said firmly. “He will.”

\----

But although it seemed to fall to Bilbo to tell all and sundry that Kili would recover, he himself was not so sure. He wanted to believe it as much as they did, but when he looked at the frightening blankness on Kili's face, he found it hard to imagine that there was anything left in there at all. He did not know where Kili had gone, but it was clear that he not there with them. So it was that when Fili again asked the question that all of them were trying to avoid, Bilbo did not answer him.

It was late, though few were sleeping. Thorin sat in shadow, face sombre, staring into the darkness under the trees. Bilbo was wrapped in his blanket, looking at the fire. And Fili shifted and sighed and said, “What if he never wakes up?”

And in truth, it should not have been Bilbo's duty to answer the question. Thorin was their uncle, and the leader of the company, and the King Under the Mountain. But Thorin's face was grown long with despair, and he made no answer, but simply rose and walked away into the darkness.

“Mr. Baggins,” said Fili desperately.

“He will wake,” Bilbo said, getting to his feet himself. “He will.”

\----

He found Thorin standing in a clearing not fifty yards from the campfire. The moon shone down, splintered by the trees into patterns of silver and black, and Thorin turned and turned on his heels as if searching for something.

“Your nephew asked you a question back there,” Bilbo said, feeling torn between anger and pity. 

“I know this place,” Thorin said, as if he had not spoken at all. “I passed through here many times when I was a young dwarf in Erebor.” He shook his head. “I never could have imagined then that there would come a time when there was no King Under the Mountain.”

Bilbo looked around himself. The clearing, though pleasant enough, was entirely foreign to his eyes, even the trees such as he had never seen growing in the Shire. The moonlight seemed sharper here, with a harder edge, and the mountain reared ever above them. How strange, to think that for Thorin, these lands were as familiar as Buckland and Michel Delving were for Bilbo.

“Does this never end, Mr. Baggins?” Thorin said then, and his head was bowed, his voice shot through with grief. “Have we not suffered enough?”

Bilbo crept closer, and laid a hand on the dwarf king's arm. “There is still a King Under the Mountain,” he said. “He's just not yet quite as under it as he should be.”

Thorin stared at him a moment, then choked on a laugh, bitter-edged but true. “Aye, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “Not yet.”

\----

Bilbo finally fell asleep a little before midnight, and when he woke, it was to someone insistently kicking him in the side. He sat up angrily to ask whoever it was what they were playing at, only to meet Fili's terrified eyes as he clung desperately to his brother, who was shaking violently, his limbs twitching and jerking, his eyes rolling in his head. Bilbo lunged forward, but he was beaten to his goal by Thorin, who was all of a sudden on his knees in front of his nephews, clasping Kili's face in both hands and holding it steady, staring at him as if he hoped to pin him with only the force of his gaze.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “Kili, look. You will look at me.”

And Kili tried, it was clear he tried, and that gave Bilbo hope more than anything, for it was clear to him now that wherever the little dwarf had gone, he had come back from there, and he still understood at least something. But his body kept up its twitching and shuddering, and though he kept trying to bring his eyes back to Thorin's, they rolled and wandered as if of their own accord. But Thorin held steady for long, long minutes, commanding Kili over and again to look, to look, _look at me my nephew_ , and Fili did his best to contain Kili's flailing limbs, and Bilbo, who could get no purchase on Kili's shaking body, put his hand instead on Fili's shoulder and squeezed as tight as he could.

And then, somehow, Kili looked. His body still trembled and shook, but his arms and legs only twitched, now, no longer jerking and thrashing, and his eyes grew steady, staring at Thorin, blinking slowly as if stunned. And Thorin let out a deep sigh and leaned his forehead against his nephew's, but did not close his eyes, nor break eye contact with Kili. Through it all, Kili made not a sound, but his hand came out to grasp Bilbo's sleeve, his fingers twisting in the fabric until they grew white and bloodless, and Bilbo laid his own hand over Kili's and stroked it gently.

“There now,” he said. “There now.”

For he could think of nothing else to say.

\----

Kili did not speak that night, nor the next morning, and even when the sun was an hour above the horizon, he still shook and trembled as though frozen to the core, though his skin was no cooler than it should have been. His eyes wandered at times, but only when there was no-one for him to look at, and so Bilbo found himself taking shifts with Fili to sit before him and maintain eye contact. And when the sun was two hours above the horizon, Balin sighed a heavy sigh.

“Six days, Thorin,” he said. 

Thorin nodded and crouched beside Kili. “Can you walk?” he asked.

Kili fixed his eyes on him, but made no response. He shuddered, slow and rolling, and his fingers twisted in Bilbo's sleeve.

“I will help him,” Fili said, though he seemed barely steady on his feet himself. 

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Bilbo asked. “He's still clearly quite poorly.”

“No, it is not in the least a good idea,” said Thorin. “But if we miss the last light of Durin's Day, we will be stranded on the mountain with nowhere to go.”

There was no arguing with that, and so Fili and Bilbo started trying to lift Kili to his feet, only to find Dwalin standing beside them, achieving with one hand what they had failed to do with four.

“Neither of you should be walking,” he said, eyeing Fili critically.

“Then we will lean on each other,” said Fili, and he wrapped his arm under his brother's shoulders and stood tall, though on shaking legs.

Dwalin raised a slow eyebrow, but when Thorin gave the call for them to fall in, he made no objection. But he walked behind Fili and Kili for the rest of the day.

\----

It was a slow march, and a wretched one, for Kili could barely keep his feet and Fili demanded a halt every two hours to let his brother rest. They covered no more than two leagues, and Balin began to look distinctly worried. And still Kili did not speak, and although his trembling subsided as the day went on, his silence grew more and more troublesome to Bilbo's mind, until he found himself once again wondering if Kili had somehow simply lost his tongue. 

In the evening, he sat beside Kili where the little dwarf was propped against a tree and busied himself mending a tear in his jacket. It was more patches than original fabric, now, and looked quite a fright, but he still remembered when it had been quite a handsome thing, and he had been very fond of wearing it when he wanted to make an impression. It would surely make an impression still, but perhaps not quite of the same kind.

“Hobbit,” said Kili, “I'm know.”

“ _I_ know,” said Bilbo absently, and then stabbed himself with his needle as he turned to stare in astonishment at Kili. “Why, Master Kili!” he said. “I had begun to think I would never hear your voice again!”

“What?” came Fili's voice, and Bilbo looked up to see him standing frozen in the act of stepping back out of the trees into the firelight. “Did he speak?”

“He did indeed!” said Bilbo, and Fili made a noise of delighted relief and dropped down next to his brother, hugging him tight against his side for a moment before letting go and watching him cautiously. But Kili did not seem to have been frightened by the embrace, nor did his eyes wander or his limbs tremble. He glanced briefly at Fili, but then returned to watching Bilbo.

“All right, all right,” Bilbo said, aware that he was smiling all over his face. “What is it that you know, my lad?”

“I know not punish,” Kili said.

Bilbo opened his mouth, but Kili shook his head quickly. “Not can -- not can speak good,” he said, as though each word required an effort. “Hobbit listen.” He turned and looked at Fili. “Fili listen?”

“I'm listening,” Fili said quietly, and Bilbo nodded and set his hands on his knees.

Kili sat quietly for a moment, and then hunched his shoulders a little. “I'm know dwarfs not want punish,” he said. “Need -- need go water, men, men,” he shook his head a moment and paused. “Men want kill,” he managed finally. “Need go water. Not hobbit want punish, not Fili want punish.” He stopped and looked from one to the other. “Understand,” he said. “I'm understand.”

He fell silent then, and Bilbo waited to see if there was more, but Fili had apparently decided there was not.

“But then why did you not speak for so long, if you knew we were not trying to punish you?” he asked. “Why did you -- why did you go away?”

Kili stared down at his hands. “Not know,” he said. “Head is bad. Not think right.”

“Your head is not bad,” Bilbo said firmly, but Kili looked at him, and his face was filled with certainty.

“Head is not right,” he said. “Not right.”

\----

After that, Kili seemed to sink into dark thoughts, though he was not mute as before and answered if he was asked a question. But he volunteered nothing and seemed lost in his own mind more often than not, which Bilbo found rather alarming, given what had just happened. It wasn't until Bilbo glanced absently across the camp and saw Ori that he realised he had the perfect thing to make Kili feel better.

“Master Ori,” he called. “Kili wants to talk to you!”

Ori sat up, looking delighted, and then grabbed his pack and hastened over. “Hello, Kili!” he said. “Are you feeling better?”

Kili glanced at him half-heartedly. “Hello Ori,” he said, and Ori's face fell at his flat tone.

“Ori has something to show you,” Bilbo said, and raised his eyebrows at Ori. Ori nodded quickly, and pulled the sheaf of papers from his pack.

“Here you are,” he said. “I thought you might want these back.” 

Kili took the pile without speaking and laid it in his lap, looking down at it for a moment as if he wasn't sure what it was. The pictures were face down, and Bilbo reached over and carefully turned the whole pile over. The topmost picture was the one of Kili and Bilbo, and Kili stared at it without blinking for long enough that Bilbo began to worry he didn't even recognise it, but then he reached out a tentative hand and brushed his fingertips across the image of Bilbo's face.

“Pictures,” he whispered. “Pictures not gone.”

“No, they are not gone,” said Bilbo. “Ori saved them for you.”

Kili lifted his head to look at Ori then, and to his surprise Bilbo saw that he seemed close to tears. “Thank you Ori,” he said. “Thank you Ori. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Ori said, smiling, but still looking quite worried. “Are you all right, Kili?”

Kili looked back down the picture, and he made an expression that Bilbo didn't recognise, for he had never seen it on Kili's face before, but when he thought about it later he realised it might almost have been a smile. 

“Pictures not gone,” he said.

\----

They walked, and they walked, and on the second day they came to a place where everything was black and burned and nothing grew. Balin called it the Desolation of the Dragon, and Bilbo shivered to think that this beast, who had seemed quite mythical to him even after all this time, had actually destroyed such a wide swath of countryside around the mountain. They made good time, for Kili seemed able to walk much faster now, and although he still did not speak much, his spirits seemed much improved by the reappearance of his pictures.

On the third day, they came across the ruins of a great city, now nothing but charred and tumble-down stones. The dwarves were grown quiet and pensive, and they glanced often towards the mountain. They were close enough now that Bilbo could see what looked like a great gate between two spurs of rock, and Thorin stood still among the ruined houses and stared at it for a long time.

“There stood my grandfather,” he said, “and there stood I, once upon a time.”

“And there you will stand again,” said Balin. “But not if we don't keep moving.”

Keep moving they did, and on the fourth night they camped in a narrow valley on the western side of the mountain, right up against it so that it towered above them. The next day was Durin's Day, and Bilbo could hardly remember what life had been like when he had been just a hobbit of the Shire, though it had been barely half a year ago. He sat beside Kili and stared up at the mountain, wondering if there was indeed a dragon living inside it, and if so, whether any of them would live to see the spring come round again. Kili stared, too, and after a while he turned to Bilbo.

“Hobbit,” he said, “why we are go mountain?”

“Well,” said Bilbo, “it is a quest, you see. Your Uncle Thorin used to live there a long time ago, but then a dragon stole it from him, and now he wants to take it back.”

“It's our home,” Fili put in. “Our kingdom.”

Kili stared at the mountain thoughtfully, but did not reply.

“Do you understand?” Bilbo asked.

“No,” said Kili. “I not understand.”

\----

Durin's Day dawned grey and cool, and the dwarves were up before dawn, packing their supplies and dividing into subdued groups to search the mountainside for the hidden door. Bilbo found himself with Fili and Kili, and Fili declared that although Kili had no idea what they were looking for and seemed stubbornly opposed to understanding the idea of _secret door_ , Bilbo had the sharpest eyes of all of them, and Fili the next, so that they would still outmatch any other party and were sure to find it first. Bilbo privately thought that it would be found first by those who happened to be looking in the right place, but he was pleased to see Fili's spirit apparently fully restored, and so they set out with enthusiasm and a sense of healthy competition that was undampened by logic or common sense. In the end, though, it was Kili who found it, which just went to show that sometimes those who aren't looking have a better chance than those who are.

They had been following what seemed to be a rough path that climbed up the mountainside, losing it from time to time, and then finding it again, and sure that it must lead somewhere because sometimes it seemed to have steps cut into it, and sheep and goats do not make such things. Eventually they found themselves on a narrow ledge, and Bilbo and Fili took to examining the rock wall behind them, pressing their hands in likely-looking spots and calling to each other from time to time. They were so occupied in their task that neither of them noticed that Kili had disappeared for some minutes, and when Bilbo heard Fili shout his brother's name with something like panic in his tone, and looked up to see the ledge empty of anyone but Fili, he could think only of the steep drop that fell away dizzyingly below them and could hardly breathe past the narrowing of his throat.

But then Kili appeared, as if from nowhere. One moment the ledge was empty, and the next he was there, looking curiously towards his brother.

“I'm find door,” he said, as if he was announcing he was hungry. 

“What?” said Fili. “No you haven't. You don't even know what we're looking for!” 

Kili shrugged and pointed, and Bilbo and Fili slipped after him through a narrow crack in the rock into a strange sort of bay that was open to the sky above and walled in by a towering cliff on the opposite side from the crack. The cliff here was smooth and flat, as though it had been made by a master mason, and although there were no obvious cracks, no lintel or keyhole or hinges, it was clear that this could not be anything other than what they had been searching for.

“Door,” Kili said, pointing at it. “Yes?”

“Yes,” whispered Fili, staring at it in some amazement. “Yes, that is the door.”

“Door, good,” said Kili. “What do now?”

Fili turned to him with a slow smile.

“Now we find Thorin,” he said.

\----

To be quite honest, there was not really room for thirteen dwarves and a hobbit in the little bay that held the door. Nonetheless, none of them were willing to be left out, except Kili, and neither Fili nor Thorin would have agreed to leaving him out on the ledge, so there they all were, hammering, scraping, even trying to hook their fingernails into imagined cracks in the rock to pull the door open. Bilbo, who had taken his turn at the face but quickly decided it was useless, found himself sitting beside Kili, who was watching proceedings with a look of some bemusement.

“Why dwarfs want open door?” he asked. 

“Because they want to get inside the mountain,” Bilbo said. 

“Why?” Kili asked. “Dark in mountain. No sky.”

“Because that is where dwarves are supposed to be,” Bilbo said. “Dwarves belong inside mountains.”

Kili fell silent at that, watching the dwarves again, but now he looked more troubled than bemused.

\----

And then the sun began to sink, and the dwarves' spirits with it. It was dim and rather damp in the little bay, so that the rocks were crawling with snails, but the setting sun now shone through the narrow crack, lighting up at least a small strip of the wall and throwing the rest into deeper shadow. Dwarves are able to see in the dark much better than hobbits or even many elves, and so they were not deterred by this, but nonetheless, they knew that time was quickly running out, and they were beginning to despair. 

Bilbo found himself standing by the crack, watching the sun as it descended into a bank of cloud that swathed the horizon. A great groan went up from the dwarves as the bay fell entirely into shadow, and Bilbo felt his heart twist in his chest, for they had come so very far, and he could not believe it would all be for nothing. He stared disconsolately at the horizon, but found himself distracted by a tapping sound that was less rhythmic than the hammers and chisels of the dwarves. He turned to see a thrush, its eye bright and seeming to stare straight at Bilbo, tapping a snail against a rock that stood in the middle of the bay.

“ _When the thrush knocks_ ,” muttered Bilbo, and at that moment, the sun slipped down below the fiery clouds, just a sliver of it visible between them and the horizon, and a single ray of red light fell through the crack in the rock onto the door.

There was a great _crack_ , like a tree branch breaking under the weight of snow, and a chunk of rock fell from the face where the red light shone, revealing a hole that seemed clearly shaped to fit a key.

Balin got to his feet. “Thorin,” he said, in an awed voice, and then, “Thorin! The key!”

Thorin lunged forward, then, and the dwarves parted before him, and he drew the key from the chain he wore always around his neck and fitted it to the lock. He glanced back at them all and then took the key in both hands, turning it with all his might.

And it turned.

There was a click, and a quiet creak, and then a section of the rock swung inwards, leaving a black opening into the mountainside. 

“The door,” said Thorin, as if he did not believe what he was seeing.

“Well, I'm blowed,” Bilbo said to Bofur, who was standing beside him. “There is a door after all!”

“Aye, I'm as surprised as you are,” Bofur said. “To be honest, I was sure we'd all have been eaten by orcs by now.”

Bilbo stared at him in astonishment, and Bofur gave him a sunny smile. 

“We'll probably all be incinerated by the dragon by this time tomorrow, mind,” he said, “but we've done really well to get this far.”

Bilbo shook his head and moved forward to stand beside Fili, who was pulling his brother up from the ground. Thorin had already stepped into the opening, and the other dwarves were following behind, talking in hushed voices and gazing at the opening in wonder. Soon, only Fili, Kili and Bilbo were left in the bay, standing before the yawning blackness of the mountain.

“We're home, my brother,” Fili breathed. “We've finally made it.”

“I'm not know _home_ ,” Kili said. “What mean?”

Fili looked at him and considered a moment. “I'm not sure I know, either,” he said, and took his brother's arm. “Let's find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part Three! Boo-yah!


	26. Part Four: Present Subjunctive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some lines lifted directly from _The Hobbit_ (book). They're in the scene with the dragon. You know the one.

The passageway beyond the door was smooth and straight, nothing like the more irregular tunnels of the elven fortress in Mirkwood, or the rubbly, rocky pathways of Goblintown. Indeed, Bilbo could see no sign even of toolmarks, though there were carvings here and there, beautiful abstract patterns and stylised images of dwarves and mountains. He gazed in wonder, for although he had spent the last half a year travelling with dwarves and coming to know them very well indeed, he had never been inside a dwarvish dwelling of any kind, let alone a city of such fabled magnificence as Erebor. And this was merely the passageway that led to a secret entrance! Who could say what other wonders might await them, down in the heart of the mountain.

But of course, the beauty of dwarven craftsmanship was not the only thing that might be found in the heart of the mountain, and though Bilbo, in his moment of marvelling, might have almost forgotten that, Thorin had not. He strode now back up the passageway and stood before the little hobbit, and he seemed at his most kingly as he gazed down upon him.

“Master burglar,” he said, “it is time for you to show us your skills.”

Bilbo, of course, had not really thought very hard about what he would be expected to do for a long time, for he had had many other things on his mind. But now he remembered his promise, to steal back the treasure from the dragon, which he had made in a hurry and had never really expected to be held to. After all, to hear the dwarves talk about it, there were large piles of gold, and how could Bilbo be expected to carry it all out in his pockets?

“Shouldn't we--” he said, and cast around for something that might be able to delay his departure “--get our bearings first?”

“I have no need to find my bearings,” Thorin said. “Every stone of the mountain sings to me. The gold lies in that direction.” Here he pointed down the passageway, and Bilbo restrained himself from making a comment about obvious statements.

“And the dragon?” Bilbo said.

“If the dragon lives, he lies in that direction, too,” Thorin said, and Bilbo sighed, for it was clear there was nothing for it.

“Well, then, master dwarf,” he said, “in that direction I shall go!” And he drew in a deep breath and threw his shoulders back, reminding himself that he had already survived quite a number of terrifying encounters, and after all the dragon might not even be alive at all.

He marched down the passageway, but paused when he heard a soft word from Fili, and looked back to see that Kili had tried to follow him, and was now looking confused as his brother held him back by his elbow. Bilbo sighed and turned back.

“I have something I must do,” he said to Kili. “But I will be back soon!” _I hope_ , he added to himself.

Kili nodded, but he looked a little nervous, and Bilbo patted his arm. “I'll bring you back a present,” he promised the little dwarf, as if he was going to market in Michel Delving and not to attempt to steal something from under the nose of a fell beast.

“Mr. Baggins,” said Thorin, and Bilbo sighed again.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I'm going.”

\----

Balin went with Bilbo for part of the way, down, down, down into the heart of the mountain. The narrow tunnel from the secret door did not seem to be joined by any others, which Bilbo supposed was understandable, if it had been kept secret even from most of the inhabitants in the old days. Eventually, though, they reached a sharp corner, and Balin pointed downwards and told Bilbo to be careful, then turned back and marched quickly away. Bilbo, of course, did not need the admonishment -- he was hardly likely to be reckless when potentially facing a live dragon -- but he did miss the old dwarf's company as he crept down the last stretches of passageway to a narrow opening that seemed to shed a faint light.

When he cautiously looked out of the opening, though, he forgot all about Balin. For the tunnel led to the most enormous room Bilbo had ever seen, great carved pillars stretching upwards into deep shadow unfathomably high above, empty air between them stretching for what seemed like miles. He could not even conceive of why anyone would need a room this size, and certainly not dwarves, who were tall, yes, but not even as tall as men. But the size of the room was not the only thing that caught Bilbo's breath in his throat, for as large as it was, it was almost half-filled, and the two things it was almost half-filled with were astounding amounts of gold and a sleeping dragon.

Bilbo's breath caught in his throat. There was not a great deal of light in the room, and at first he thought that what little there was was coming from the gold itself, as if it had some soft inner glow, but eventually he understood that there must be deep. deep shafts somewhere above bringing light from the outside, and that this light was magnified and reflected by the gold so that it appeared to gleam by its own power alone. But there was enough light to see a scaly foot that was three times the size of Bilbo's entire body, a great, leathery, folded wing like a bat's, a snake-like body that stretched on and on, curled and twisted around the gold, and -- and -- Bilbo followed the body with his eyes until he reached the end of it -- the dragon's enormous head, eyes closed, smoke pluming gently from its nostrils. 

Asleep. Definitely not dead.

For a long, long moment, Bilbo could not move a muscle, so completely horrified was he at seeing at last this creature that he had been told so many stories of, at seeing the sheer size of it. Once he regained the ability to move, he considered going back. _Back, back, back, the dragon is alive and we should all be gone from this place, let him have it, it is only gold and an empty, echoing, dark mountain._

But where would they go? Back to Lake-Town, for the Master to imprison Bilbo and Kili? Back to Mirkwood, to face the spiders and the elves? And for all that this mountain was nothing but shadows and terror for Bilbo, it was home for Thorin, and the others, too, and he had made a promise, stupidly perhaps, but he had made it, a long time ago when he had been a rather different hobbit.

So Bilbo took his courage in both hands and took a silent step onto the stone floor of the great chamber. The stone was cool, but not cold, as in the passageway, and to his bare feet it felt remarkably smooth, as if it had been forged like metal, not carved like stone. Bilbo crept forward as quietly as only a hobbit can, and after a moment or two he remembered his ring and slipped it on, and so he was both silent and invisible, so it was no wonder the dragon didn't wake. 

He edged his way to the foot of the nearest pile of gold and stared up at it in wonder. There was more treasure, more gold and silver and jewels here than he had imagined existed in the entire world put together. Had all of this once belonged to Thorin's grandfather? He must have been the richest creature on the face of the earth! Bilbo wondered what he had been planning to do with it all, but dwarves had their peculiarities after all, and Bilbo was standing in the presence of a live dragon, so he did not wonder for long, but simply picked up the nearest piece of treasure -- a large gold two-handled cup set with jewels, sturdy and carved all over with beautiful writhing lines -- and, remembering his promise to Kili, slipped a gold coin in his pocket for good measure. Then he crept quickly back the way he had come, and, with one last terrified look back at the dragon, fled back up the passageway.

\----

Balin, as it turned out, had not gone all the way back to the dwarves, but was waiting for him rather anxiously a short way up the tunnel from where they had parted. He smiled all over his face when he was Bilbo coming, and even more when he glimpsed the cup in Bilbo's hands.

“Master hobbit,” he said, as if it had been years since they last saw each other rather than minutes, “I am so glad to see you.”

“And I am glad to be seen!” Bilbo said. “And your treasure is quite stupendous, I must say. But Mr. Balin, I am afraid that the dragon is not at all dead.”

Balin's face fell, then, and he put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

“In that case,” he said, “you should wait to tell me the story until Thorin can hear it, too.”

\----

In fact, there was very little more to Bilbo's story than _your treasure is quite stupendous_ and _the dragon is not at all dead_. Thorin listened gravely, and the other dwarves glanced at each other with trouble in their faces. But when Bilbo handed over the cup, and Thorin turned it over in his hands, it seemed all thought of the dragon was momentarily forgotten.

“Ah, Erebor!” Thorin murmured, tracing his fingers over the carved lines. “I had not thought to see such workmanship again.”

The dwarves drew closer, then, as if pulled in by the gleam of gold, and passing the cup from one to another, and all breathed deep and joyfully at the sight of it, for those who had spent their youths in Erebor remembered its like well, and those who had not knew that every beautiful object they had seen in their lives to that point was nothing to this heritage of theirs. And they soon fell to a deep and detailed discussion of gold, which Bilbo was first fascinated and then rather bored by. He retreated towards the secret door, which still sat propped open with a stone and let in a little moonlight, and sat down beside Kili, who seemed to be trying very hard to follow the conversation. After a few minutes, though, he turned to Bilbo.

“Hobbit,” he said in a low voice, “what _gold_?”

“ _What does gold mean?_ ” Bilbo said, and waited with raised eyebrows.

Kili sighed. “What is _gold_ mean,” he repeated, dutifully if not entirely correctly, and then nodded at Bilbo. “What is?”

“Well,” Bilbo said, “it is a precious metal, very beautiful -- oh!” He remembered the coin he had slipped in his pocket for Kili, and drew it out. “Here,” he said, “this is for you. I give it to you.”

“Thank you hobbit,” Kili said, and took the coin, inspecting it with interest. “What he is?” he said, and then frowned. “Picture?”

“No, it's not a picture,” Bilbo said, a little confused at how Kili could think it was. “It's a coin. But that's not important right now. You see, it is made of gold.” He pointed at the coin. “This is gold.”

Kili peered at it in the dim light, running his fingers over it. “Is like, like--” he said, and then rolled his sleeve up and pointed at the manacle on his wrist. “This is like?” he asked. “Same, colour not same?”

“Well, in a way,” Bilbo said. “It is metal, yes.” He pointed at the manacle. “Iron,” he said, and Kili nodded.

“Iron,” he repeated. “Black.”

“Yes, black,” Bilbo said, “although iron is silver or grey if it is polished, which your shackles have not been for many a long day, my boy.” He drew his little sword, then, and pointed at it, and was pleased to see that Kili did not flinch at all. “Iron,” he said. Kili nodded.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Know iron. Gold is like iron?”

“They are both metal,” Bilbo said. “ _Metal_.”

“Metal,” repeated Kili. “Yes, is metal, is stone, is-- is-- dwarf is--” He stopped and shook his head, looking a little confused, and Bilbo felt rather the same way.

“Well, anyway,” he said, “gold is metal, and dwarves love gold. And now you have some! I hope you enjoy it.”

Kili looked back at his gold coin, turning it over and over in his hands. “Why make picture gold?” he asked. “Gold heavy. Is more good make knife gold, make picture paper.”

“I don't think a gold knife would be much use,” Bilbo said, “though it would be very beautiful, I'm sure.” Kili stared at him, and he tried to explain. “Gold is too soft,” he said. “You can't cut anything very much with gold. And it is very precious.”

Kili thought about this. “Not can make knife gold?” 

“ _Out of_ gold,” Bilbo said. “And no, not really. You can make lots of other things, though. Coins and crowns and arm-rings, and finger-rings too, of course.”

Kili frowned down at the coin. “Iron more good,” he muttered.

“Mr. Baggins!” said Fili, making his way up from the party of dwarves that was still earnestly discussing gold and sitting down next to Kili. “You are a true burglar and no mistake.” He grinned, and Bilbo smiled back and thought about how nice it was to see the melancholy young dwarf smile so much these days. “What's that, Kili?” Fili asked, and Kili showed him the coin.

“Hobbit give,” he said. “Gold picture.”

“It's not a picture,” Bilbo said again. “It's a coin.” 

Kili frowned at him, then showed him the coin. “Picture,” he said, then flipped the coin to its other side. “Two picture.”

Bilbo saw indeed that there were pictures on the coin, a dwarf's head on one side and the mountain on the other, both edged round with dwarvish letters. They were tiny, finely-worked and difficult to see in the dim light, at least for a hobbit. 

“Oh,” he said. “Well, the pictures are just there for decoration. It's not supposed to be a picture.”

Kili stared at him in blank incomprehension, and Bilbo exchanged a glance with Fili. Fili smiled and shook his head.

“But look, Kili,” he said, pointing to the coin. “Look here, at the writing. This says _Erebor_ , and this says _Thror_. That is our great-grandfather's name.”

Kili stared at Fili, then at Bilbo. He looked rather puzzled. “Gold not can speak,” he said. “Not can speak? Is dead, not can speak.”

“No, of course gold cannot speak,” Bilbo said, “though I dare say the dwarves hear it whispering to them sometimes.” Fili sent him an amused glance, and Bilbo tried not to think about how sometimes he thought he heard his own gold ring whispering to him. 

Kili watched him for a moment, as if he was waiting to see if he would say something else, then looked back at the coin. “Not can speak,” he said. “Good, understand. _I_ understand.”

Bilbo smiled at him, and Fili leaned forward again. “But look,” he said, pointing, “do you see the writing? It's dwarvish runes. It says _Erebor_ , here, you see?”

Kili now looked quite baffled. “Not can speak,” he said to Fili. “Hobbit say not can speak gold. I listen, not is speak.”

Fili's look of bafflement now matched his brother's, and he looked at Bilbo helplessly. Bilbo thought back carefully over what had been said, and then he saw the problem.

“Ah! No, my lad,” he said. “When your brother says that the coin _says_ something, he doesn't mean it is speaking. He means there is writing on it.” He pointed to the edge of the coin. “Do you see? These marks?”

Kili looked closer. “Yes,” he said. “Marks?” Bilbo nodded, and Kili nodded back. “Marks,” he said. “In-mountain marks.”

Bilbo glanced at Fili, but he just shrugged and leaned across his brother again to point. “They are words,” he said. “It is writing. These marks are words.”

Kili frowned. “Word is speak,” he said. “Word is hands. Word not is marks. Marks is in mountain.”

“But the marks represent words,” Fili said, and of course Kili's frown deepened at the word _represent_. “I mean--” Fili said, “they, they -- oh I cannot explain it.” He looked disconsolate. “I can never explain anything properly.”

Bilbo patted his arm. “Maybe you could show him?” he said. “Ori must have some paper you could use.”

Fili's face brightened a little, and he jumped to his feet, coming back a moment later with a sheet of paper scattered with half-finished sketches and a little stub of pencil. “Now,” he said to Kili, and set the paper down in front of him, carefully drawing four dwarven letters. “This is your name. Do you see? It says _Kili_.”

Kili was apparently quite distracted by the sketches, and Bilbo pointed firmly to the word Fili had written. “Pay attention,” he said. “Your brother is trying to show you something.”

Kili settled down and stared at the word. “Marks,” he said. “In-mountain marks.”

“It is _writing_ ,” Bilbo said, and Kili glanced at him.

“In-mountain writing,” he said. “I not understand.”

Fili thought for a moment, and then drew a single rune. “This is _k_ ,” he said. “When you see this letter -- this, this mark, you say the sound _k_.” He glanced at Kili to check he was following along, and seemed satisfied that he was. “Now,” he said, and drew another rune, “this is _i_. _K_ ,” he pointed, “ _i_. And this one” a third rune “is _l_. So when I write them all together” and here he wrote the word _Kili_ again, “you say _Kili_. Do you understand? You say _Kili_.”

“Kili,” said Kili doubtfully. 

“Yes!” Fili said, beaming at his brother. Then he wrote another rune. “This one is _f_ ,” he said. “ _F_. So if I write this word” and here he wrote the same word as before, but with the first letter changed to _f_ , “what does it say?”

Kili stared at him, and Fili smiled and pointed. “What does it say?” he asked again.

“Not say,” Kili said, shaking his head. “Not speak. Is picture.”

Fili made a grumble of frustration, but quickly recovered his patience. “But what does it mean?” he asked, pointing again at the word. “What do the marks mean?”

Kili frowned down at the runes, then hesitated. “Mean in mountain,” he said, then gave Fili a worried look. “It is right?”

Fili sat back with a sigh, and Bilbo patted his arm again.

“Maybe another time,” he said. “It is getting rather late.”

“Yes,” Fili said. “Another time.”

\----

They slept outside, in the end, in the little rocky bay, all except for Thorin and Balin, who seemed not to want to leave the mountain for any reason. Most of the rest of the dwarves did not seem to mind one way or the other, but only said that the passageway was narrow and sloped rather steeply and therefore was not really suitable for sleeping. Kili, though, seemed quite relieved to go out again and sit under the stars.

When Bilbo woke, the sky was grey, though with the promise of a clear blue sky to come. The dwarves slumbered on, with the exception, as always, of Kili, who sat with his back to the smooth rocky cliff, inspecting one of his pictures. Bilbo tried going back to sleep for a few minutes, and then, when that failed, he got up and went to sit beside the little dwarf.

“Good morning, Master Kili,” he said with a yawn.

Kili nodded at him. “Hobbit,” he said, as if he thought that was some kind of greeting.

Fili, who was sprawled at his brother's feet, stirred and opened one eye. “Do you never sleep?” he groaned, and then sat up, grumbling a little, but in a good-natured way. He leaned his back against the cliff and tipped his head back, staring at the sky. 

“I can't believe we're actually in Erebor,” he said in a wondering tone.

Bilbo resisted the urge to point out that they were technically outside Erebor, but was interrupted in his thought by Ori, who apparently was a rather early riser himself. He sat down on the other side of Fili and smiled at them all.

“It's amazing, isn't it?” he said. “Erebor, after all that!” 

Fili nodded with a broad smile, and Bilbo did his best to look enthused, wondering if he was the only one who remembered the business of the dragon. Kili just looked blank, and Ori smiled at him.

“Hello, Kili,” he said. “I drew you another picture.” And he pulled out a sheet of paper from under his coat. “I'm not -- well, I hope you like it. I give it to you.”

Kili's eyes had grown wide and excited at the sight of the paper, and now he took it from Ori. “Thank you Ori,” he said quickly, and peered down at the image. It was the one Ori had been drawing the night they had made their hasty exit from Lake-Town, of Kili and Fili sitting in the alcove, Kili awake and Fili asleep, his mouth slack and a line of drool running down his chin.

“Oh, that's not fair at all!” Fili groaned, and Bilbo chuckled. Ori was looking at Kili a little apprehensively.

“You don't have to keep it, if you don't want,” he said. “I mean, I thought it might remind you of--” 

He trailed off, but Kili did not seem in the least troubled by the picture, or in fact to have understood what Ori was saying. “Good picture, yes,” he said enthusiastically, running his fingers over it. “I'm remember.”

“Well, of course you remember,” Fili said. “It was only last week.”

Kili glanced up at him, and then back down at the picture. He got the look on his face that meant he was trying to put a sentence together, which these days was reserved for only quite complicated efforts. After a moment, he turned to Ori.

“Thank you Ori draw picture, I'm in picture,” he said, and looked at Bilbo. “I know is wrong,” he said. “How is say?”

“A picture with me in it,” said Bilbo. Kili listened carefully, and then seemed to think hard a moment. 

“Thank you Ori draw picture with me in it,” he said. “It is right?”

Bilbo decided that it was right enough for now. “Yes, excellent,” he said, and Kili looked rather pleased with himself.

“In it,” he muttered, and then nodded. “Thank you Ori.”

“Fili is in it, too,” Bilbo pointed out. Kili looked at him with a slight frown.

“Yes,” he said, and then gestured to his pile of pictures. “I'm have many picture Fili in it.” He suddenly looked a little concerned and turned to Fili. “Good picture, Fili good, thank you Fili,” he said, and then frowned. “Thank you Ori.” Fili smiled at that, but Kili had not finished. He waved the new picture at Bilbo and pointed at the image of his face. “Picture me in it. Good picture.”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, Master Fili,” he said, “I rather think your brother might be quite vain.”

Fili chuckled. “The rest of us have known that from the moment he first found out about mirrors,” he said. Kili ignored them both, brushing his fingertips over the image of himself, and Bilbo had the sudden spark of an idea, and dug through Kili's pile of pictures until he came across the one Ori had drawn on the first day in Lake-Town, of Kili laughing and Fili sitting with his arm around him. He held it next to the new picture.

“Look,” he said. “They are the same.”

Kili looked from one picture to the other. “Not same,” he said.

“Well, they are a little different, but look.” Bilbo pointed from one to the other. “Fili and Kili, Kili and Fili. They are the same.” He smiled at Kili, hoping he would understand a little better his connection to his past. But Kili was frowning.

“Not same,” he said. He pointed at the older picture. “Picture Kili in it.” He then pointed to the new one. “Picture me in it.” He looked at Bilbo and shook his head. “Not same.”

Bilbo felt his mouth drop open a little, and Fili suddenly looked quite worried. He tugged on his brother's arm to get his attention. “But you are Kili,” he said. “You know that, don't you? You are Kili.”

Kili looked from his brother to Bilbo and back. “Yes, know,” he said. “Say me many, all day. Know. I know.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to ask another question, but he was cut off by a deep rumbling noise that he would have thought was thunder, except it seemed to be coming from under his feet. 

“What was that?” he asked in a small voice, but Fili and Ori did not seem to know, jumping to their feet and looking around, wide-eyed. The other dwarves were waking, now, and looking around in confusion, and Bilbo heard voices and footsteps from beyond the secret door.

The question was answered a moment later, though, for there was a much louder rumble which turned into a roar, and then the sky exploded into red and gold, the great dragon soaring overhead, flames sweeping from its mouth and licking the sides of the mountain.

“Dragon!” cried Bilbo, as if there was any possibility that the company had not noticed it, and then the secret door flew wide open and Thorin was leaning out. 

“Inside!” he commanded. “Everyone inside, now!” 

The company did not need to be told twice, and they sprinted for the door, dragging their belongings with them. Bilbo grabbed Kili by the arm and hauled him to his feet, and then Fili barrelled into them both, wrapping his arm around Kili's shoulders and half-carrying him to the door, though he could walk perfectly well. Thorin reached out a hand for them as they approached, his face intent, and so it was that all three of them dragged Kili through the door, although he would surely have run to it quite happily on his own.

The other dwarves tumbled inside in short order, and Thorin closed the door almost all the way, propping it open with a stone, for they did not know if they would be able to open it again if it closed entirely. And not a moment too soon, for a second later the roar of the dragon passed over the place where they had been sitting not minutes before, and flames licked in through the crack in the door, causing the company to fall back along the tunnel, shielding their faces from the heat. Kili had taken hold of Bilbo's arm, and now his grip tightened until it was almost painful. Bilbo tried to come up with some soothing words, but he was not feeling particularly calm, so in the end he just patted Kili's hand. 

Then the roar passed over to further parts of the mountain, although they could still hear it, echoing in the distance. The dwarves stood in horrified silence, turning finally to look at each other with great trouble on their faces.

“What do we do now?” Ori asked his brother in a loud whisper. 

But nobody seemed to know.

\----

The discussion went on for hours. It had always seemed to Bilbo that _what shall we do if the dragon is alive_ was a rather important question with regard to their quest, but no-one ever asked it, and so he had assumed that they had an answer, or at least, a better answer than _hide in a tunnel until it goes away_. But apparently Thorin had thought that the portents _must_ mean that the dragon was dead, and, in his stubborn dwarvish way, had declared that even if it wasn't, portents were portents and surely if they could only get to Erebor there would be a way laid out for them.

Perhaps there was. It was only a shame that none of them seemed to know what it was.

Finally, Bilbo tired of all the back-and-forth arguing and the increasing irritation that hung over the company, and he stood up.

“We'll wait until it's asleep again,” he announced, “and then I will go and look at it to see if it has any weak spots. Surely even a dragon can be killed, after all.”

There was some grumbling and argument to this, but eventually they agreed that it was the best plan they had -- and there was a certain amount of surprised respect for Bilbo volunteering to approach the dragon now that they had all seen it, even if he did have a magic ring -- and so they nodded their heads and sat down to wait. The rumbling and roaring had faded, now, but Bilbo thought it would probably be a few hours yet before the dragon slept once more, and so he went up the tunnel to where Fili and Kili were sitting, Fili with his arm still wrapped tightly around his brother's shoulders.

“Hobbit,” said Kili urgently as soon as Bilbo arrived, “ _Kulkodar_. _Amat malishi kulkodar, amat_ we go mountain? _Malishi kulkodar!_ ”

“Well, if _kulkodar_ means _dragon_ , I feel rather the same way as you do,” Bilbo said. He had not spent much time trying to explain the quest to Kili, and had barely mentioned the dragon at all, for there was no sense scaring the little dwarf if it turned out to be dead.

“ _Amat?_ ” said Kili, wide-eyed, and Fili's arm tightened around him.

“He keeps doing that,” he said. “The Black Speech, I mean.”

“He's frightened,” Bilbo said. “And with good reason.” He patted Kili's arm. “Don't worry, master dwarf,” he said. “We shall deal with the dragon, and then everything will be all right.”

Kili just stared at him with wide eyes, as if he did not believe him. And in truth, Bilbo did not really believe it himself.

\----

It was afternoon by the time Bilbo found himself creeping once more down the tunnel to the great, gold-filled chamber where the dragon lay. They had heard not a sound for some hours, but still Bilbo paused in the narrow doorway, slipping on his ring and peering out with great care. The dragon lay on his gold, smoke billowing gently from his nostrils as he breathed deeply in sleep, and Bilbo breathed deeply himself, and was about to step out into the chamber when he saw a ray of red light spill from under one of the dragon's eyelids. For the dragon was only pretending to sleep, and, although he was invisible and all but silent, Bilbo had reckoned without the great beast's sense of smell.

“Well, thief!” the dragon said, and Bilbo was surprised and horrified to hear that he could speak, and in Common, at that. “I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath.” At this, Bilbo held his breath, although of course it was too late. “Come along! Help yourself again, there is plenty and to spare.”

Bilbo had absolutely no intention of stepping out of the tunnel, not when there was a dragon that was not only alive, but awake and looking for him. What's more, he cared very little for the treasure, though it was beautiful enough and certainly worth a great deal. He was rather more concerned for his life, and the lives of his friends, and he considered running back up the tunnel, but then they would be exactly where they had been all day, with no way to defeat the great beast, and so he stood firm (if not a little shaky) and replied.

“No thank you, o Smaug the Tremendous,” he said. “I did not come for presents. I only wished to have a look at you and see if you were truly as great as the tales tell. I did not believe them.”

“Do you now?” asked Smaug, stretching and rippling his great scaly body. Bilbo looked in vain for some kind of weak spot, but found none. 

“Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, o Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of all Calamities,” he said.

“You have nice manners, for a thief and a liar,” Smaug said. “You seem familiar with my name, but I don't remember smelling you before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?”

Well, now Bilbo was put on the spot, for he certainly did not wish to reveal his true name and origin to the creature. But he did not want to refuse, for he was afraid it would anger Smaug, and then he would get no chance to see if he could see a weak spot in the dragon's armour. And then he recalled answering the same question from another mouth, a long time ago in an elvish dungeon. “I am from under the hill!” he said. “And under hills and over hills my path has led. I am the web-cutter, friend of bears and guest of eagles. I am the Ringwinner and Luckwearer, and I am Barrel-Rider and Orc-Speaker!”

“Barrel-Rider, are you?” Smaug said thoughtfully. “Well, maybe you rode a pony that was shaped like a barrel, and maybe you did not. And Orc-Speaker? Pretty titles indeed, though I would rather call you liar, for no creature as small as you sound could speak to an orc and retain his head on his shoulders.”

“I have had more conversations with orcish tongues than you can imagine, o Dread Smaug,” said Bilbo, which was perhaps not quite true and yet not quite false either, and made Bilbo sound much more intimidating than he actually was, which was his intention, of course. 

“And yet you came here with dwarves, did you not?” Smaug said. “I smell them on you, o Barrel-Rider. What have dwarves to do with one who speaks with orcs? I am surprised they have not stolen your ring and left you for dead.” 

“I do not know any dwarves,” Bilbo said stoutly, and Smaug laughed a rumbling laugh, like the sound of distant thunder.

“Liar, indeed,” he said. “But perhaps they have left you for dead. Perhaps that is why they have sent you down to me, alone. To distract me while they steal away and leave you here.”

Well, Bilbo did not believe this of course, if only because it seemed to him that Thorin would never leave Erebor now that he had once arrived there, but nonetheless the dragon's words had an effect on him, and there was some tiny gnawing of doubt in his mind. For had not Thorin said, more than once, that he wished they had never taken Bilbo on, and that he was of no use other than to get himself (and them) killed? Admittedly, the last time he had said such a thing had been months ago, but dragon-speech has a strange effect on the unwary, and Bilbo did not know to watch out for it. But he was a loyal little hobbit, in the end, and so he tried to banish his doubt with brave words, which was rather a mistake, as it turned out, or at least it turned out quite badly for a number of people.

“You do not know everything, o Smaug the Mighty,” he said. “We did not come all this way to turn back now! You think we will flee now that we know you are alive, but we are stout-hearted, and what's more, we long for revenge!”

“Revenge?” Smaug roared in delight. “Revenge! The King Under the Mountain is dead, and where are his kin that dare seek revenge? Girion Lord of Dale is dead, and I have eaten his people like a wolf among sheep, and where are his sons' sons that dare approach me? I kill where I wish and none dare resist. I laid low the warriors of old, and their like is not in the world today. Then I was but young and tender. Now I am old and strong, strong, strong, Thief in the Shadows!” And he reared up, revealing all of himself, his enormous leathery wings and his great, slithering body and the diamond-studded underbelly that glimmered in the light reflected from the gold.

And it was then that Bilbo saw it: a bald patch underneath the dragon's foreleg, as if one or more scales had been ripped away. And that was enough for him, for he was beginning to get anxious indeed, and feared what might happen if he stayed longer. 

“I am sure that is true,” he said smartly, “but I'm afraid I have a great deal to do, and so I must be going. Thank you very much for the cup!” And he turned on his heel and ran up the tunnel, and not a moment too soon, for his foolish remark about the treasure he had stolen had enraged Smaug, and a great tongue of fire licked up the tunnel behind him. It does not do to laugh at live dragons, as Bilbo had now found out and would certainly never forget.

\----

He found his way back to the dwarves, gasping and out of breath, and they crowded round him with great gladness, for they had heard the sound of the dragon's booming laughter and had been sure he was dead. They all stumbled out of the tunnel, even Thorin and Balin, and sat on the rocky ground of the little bay, and Bilbo told them what had happened, though he left out some of the things he had said, for he was feeling now that he might not have been entirely wise in his speech. The dwarves fell to arguing, then, about how best to take advantage of the dragon's weak spot, and Bilbo, exhausted and still too anxious to really contribute much, crept away to sit by Kili, who had been watching him closely ever since he had come back. As soon as he sat down, the little dwarf's hand came out and clamped itself around Bilbo's wrist.

“Where hobbit go?” he said. “Go speak _kulkodar_?”

Bilbo looked at him to see his eyes were wide and terrified. “Don't worry,” he said, patting Kili's arm. “The dragon will not be able to hurt you.”

Kili shook his head. “Hurt _you_ ,” he said. “ _Kulkodar_ kill hobbit, hobbit not _ukhkrut_ , not die.” And now his hand tightened around Bilbo's wrist until the little hobbit felt like he could feel the bones grinding together. 

“Oh,” Bilbo said. “I shall not die, my lad, I promise you.” Perhaps it was a little unfair of him to make such a promise, for he had no idea if he could keep it (and certainly eventually he would have to break it), but Kili seemed so upset and Bilbo was so disquietened by his lapses into Black Speech that it was surely forgiveable. “I shall not die,” he said again.

Perhaps Kili was satisfied by that, and perhaps he was not, but there was never an opportunity for Bilbo to find out, for at that moment the rolling rumble began again, deep in the mountain but coming ever nearer, and the company all exchanged glances and jumped immediately to their feet, running for the secret door and the tunnel beyond. They propped the door open with the rock again, but this time there was no lick of flame, but instead a great crashing and smashing, as if the dragon was tearing the mountain to pieces, and the dwarves quickly realised that the door opened inwards, and that if any of the great boulders they could hear crashing down from above should fall against it, there was nothing to stop it rolling down the tunnel and crushing all in its path.

“We must close it!” cried Thorin, and Dwalin immediately took the stone away from the door and slammed it shut, leaving them in utter darkness, surrounded, or so it seemed, by booming and crashing, until it seemed like the mountain might come down around their ears.

But eventually, the booming ceased, and the shivers of dust and small fragments of rock that had been falling from the roof of the passageway into their hair and faces ceased with it, and Thorin dared strike a light. They stood, grey-faced and grey-haired, and stared at each other in silence, and then they turned to look at the door.

There was no crack to be seen, no lintel nor hinges. There was no keyhole.

“Well, that's it, then,” Bilbo murmured. “We're stuck now. We can't go out that way.”

Beside him, Kili stared at the door with wide, troubled eyes.

“Not can go,” he said.


	27. Chapter 27

They sat in the dark for a long time, and of course after a while they couldn't really tell how long it had been, for there was no sense of the sun or the moon, of night or day. When they spoke, it was in whispers, although there was little chance of the dragon hearing them even if he had returned to the great chamber in the depths. But they had heard no sounds of rumbling for a long time, and eventually they slept, fitfully and uncomfortably, lying lengthways along the tunnel to stop themselves from rolling down it. Kili sat up with his back against the wall, and if he slept at all, it was not while Bilbo was watching.

When they woke in the morning -- if indeed it was the morning -- there were still no sounds. Bilbo sat huddled in the tunnel, feeling more and more anxious, and wishing there was something they could do. But there was no way out, for the secret door would not open no matter how much they tried, and perhaps there was a dragon lurking at the other end of the tunnel. Bilbo had only one magic ring, and dwarves were not quiet creatures, certainly not quiet enough to sneak out under a dragon's nose, even if he could not smell them. 

They were stuck, and what was more, they were growing increasingly unhappy. All the dwarves were irritable and agitated, but it was Kili, of course, who Bilbo was most concerned for. He had not spoken since just after the door had slammed shut, and sometimes Bilbo thought he could catch the little dwarf's eyes wandering, though it was hard to say in the flickering light from the little pine torch Oin had made. It was dark, and it was quiet, and there was no sky.

They needed to get out.

Bilbo could not say how long it was after they awoke when he found himself standing and going to sit by Thorin. The dwarf king seemed deep in thought, but he nodded at Bilbo when he sat down.

“Master burglar,” he said.

“Master dwarf,” Bilbo replied. They sat in silence for a moment, and then Bilbo gathered himself and spoke.

“We must do something,” he said. “We cannot sit here for ever.”

“Certainly we cannot,” said Thorin. “And yet at this moment I have not yet heard any better suggestions.”

“Well,” said Bilbo, “it is obvious. If we cannot go up, then we must go down.”

“And what do you propose we do about the dragon, Mr. Baggins?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo really thought it ought to be Thorin's job to worry about what to do about the dragon, but he did not voice this, for it would not do to get into an argument in such a narrow space. “It might not be there,” he said. “And if it is, well, we can decide what to do when we get there. But we must go, Thorin. We shall starve here if we do not, and I rather think your nephew might lose his mind much sooner than that.”

Thorin straightened at that, but he did not look surprised, and Bilbo realised that he, too, had been concerned for Kili, though he had shown little sign of it. He regarded Bilbo a moment, his face grave, and then glanced briefly up the tunnel to where Kili sat with Fili by his side. Then he nodded.

“You are right, of course,” he said. “You are right much more often than I might have expected when I first met you, master hobbit.”

“Well,” said Bilbo, feeling rather pleased, but he did not really know what to say to this compliment, so he simply said “Well!” again, and then stood up and went back to Fili and Kili.

“Come on, you two,” he said. “We're getting out of this nasty place.”

Fili gave him a quizzical look, but Kili did not look at him at all, and when a moment later Thorin announced that they were leaving and all the dwarves began to clamber to their feet, he made no move to stand until Fili pulled him up by the elbow.

“Going down, is it?” Fili said, looking worried, and then glanced at Kili, who ignored him. “Well,” he said, “I suppose anything is better than staying here.”

And so down they went.

\----

The light that reflected from the gold in the great chamber was not as much as Bilbo had previously thought, and he decided that there must have been some light coming from the dragon as well, perhaps some fire in his belly. For the dragon was most certainly gone, now, and the gold lay gleaming faintly in its great, towering piles, deep in the darkness underneath the mountain. Bilbo stepped out into the chamber and misjudged the distance between the little entranceway and the chamber floor, stumbling in the dim light. Behind him came Oin with his torch, but he seemed hesitant to step out himself. Bilbo looked at him and waved his arms.

“We would see the dragon, if he was here,” he said. “Come on!”

And so Oin stepped out, and the others behind him, and one by one they stopped and stared, their mouths falling open and eyes growing round at the sight of the treasure. Even Thorin and Balin looked surprised, although most of all they looked overjoyed.

“It is more even than I remember,” Balin said.

“The dragon has no doubt added to it over the years,” said Thorin, and he reached down and picked up an arm-ring set with rubies. “This is no work of Erebor.”

That seemed to break the spell, somehow, and the dwarves moved forward as if with one mind, reaching for the gold, and in a few moments there were dwarves wandering everywhere amongst the treasure, clambering up the treacherous slopes, dislodging coins and gems, laughing in a deep, earthy way that sounded quite unlike their usual boisterous mirth. Bilbo wandered with them, for of course he had not had a chance to really look at the treasure yet either, and a thirteenth share of it was to be his, after all. Being a hobbit, and therefore nimbler and lighter than dwarves, he was able to quickly scale the piles, and trip lightly down the other side, so that he found himself soon further into the chamber than anyone else.

And it was then that he saw something that made him stop and stare more than any of the priceless treasures he had happily walked past on his way to where he now stood.

It was a gem, a very large one, egg-shaped and a clear sort of white, and it had no setting, and no facets, but seemed perfectly smooth and oval. Yet even though there were no faces to reflect the light, it seemed to glow with its own radiance, and even though it was white it seemed to hold all the colours of the rainbow in its heart. Bilbo stood, transfixed, for he had never seen such a beautiful object, not even in the halls of Rivendell. And without really thinking about what he was doing, he reached out and took it in his hand, marvelling at how pleasingly it fitted against his palm, and slipped it in his pocket. He felt immediately that it was something he probably should not have done, and yet he made no move to take it out again. After all, he was due a thirteenth share, and that was an enormous amount of treasure, and this was only one gem. Why should he not have this one, when there were so many more to spare?

In his heart of hearts, Bilbo knew that there was something not quite right about this argument. But he ignored his heart of hearts, and he did not take the gem from his pocket.

\----

After a while, Bilbo grew rather tired of looking at gold, and he made his way back towards the other dwarves. He found Fili and Kili halfway up the side of a pile of gold, Fili trying on arm-rings and Kili apparently staring at the floor, although when Bilbo drew closer it became clear that the little dwarf was watching his brother from under his eyelashes.

“Mr. Baggins!” Fili cried. “It seems you have managed to burgle us back all the gold of Erebor!” 

“Not until the dragon is dead, master dwarf,” Bilbo reminded him, but Fili's excitement seemed hardly dampened, and Bilbo was reminded that although he was in fact a prince of this very kingdom, he had never so much as seen the mountain from a distance until very recently, and this was the first time he had laid eyes on the splendour of his birthright. Perhaps he could be forgiven his enthusiasm, especially being as young as he was.

“Try this on, Kili,” Fili said, thrusting a golden arm-ring in the little dwarf's direction. Kili took it and frowned at it, and Fili sat down and took it back, slipping it over his brother's hand. He pushed the manacle as far up as it would go on Kili's arm and settled the arm-ring around his wrist, for it was not large enough to slip over the shackle entirely. He stepped back and grinned. “Fit for a prince!”

Kili stared at the arm-ring with an incredulous frown on his face. Then he looked up sharply at Fili, then at Bilbo, with an expression on his face that Bilbo had not seen there before, but which even in the brief moment that he glimpsed it made him feel like he had done something extraordinarily wrong. It was gone as soon as it appeared, and Kili dropped his head and seemed to shrink into himself, hunching his shoulders and fixing his eyes on the floor.

“Kili?” said Fili, who had paused in his movements as soon as he registered Kili's distress. “What's the matter?”

Kili did not answer, and Fili knelt down quickly in front of him and put one hand on either side of his head, lifting his face. 

“Come now, brother,” he said. “Tell me what it is. Did I hurt you?” Kili made no response, and Fili glanced at Bilbo with a look something akin to panic. “Mr. Baggins, what happened? What did I do?”

“I don't know, my lad,” said Bilbo, just as confused as Fili. “He doesn't like the bracelet, it seems.” He shuffled up to Kili and patted his arm. “Now, listen to me,” he said. “You have not understood. Your brother was only giving you a gift. A gift, Kili.”

Kili sat silent for a moment, but then he tilted his head slightly, looking up at Bilbo out of the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, that's right,” Bilbo said. “It's all a misunderstanding. Can you tell me what is wrong?”

There was a tense pause, and then Kili raised his arm and pointed at the arm-ring, and then at the manacle.

“Same,” he said. “Not is same?”

“No!” cried Bilbo in horror, and Fili said it at almost the same instant, and then grabbed Kili's wrist again and pulled the arm-ring off with one sharp motion, tossing it away. He stood watching it bounce down to the chamber floor for a moment, then looked back at Kili and sat down suddenly on the pile of gold, scrubbing his hands over his face and looking as though he felt rather sick.

“I'm sorry, my brother,” he said. “I'm sorry. I never do this right.” He sounded a far cry from the cheerful dwarf who had greeted Bilbo not minutes ago, and Bilbo put a quick arm round his shoulders and patted Kili's arm with his other hand.

“You're doing very well,” he said. “Both of you. But why don't we find something else for Kili, eh? Maybe something with a picture on it.”

Fili wiped a hand across his mouth, and then nodded, smiling shakily at Kili, who now looked more or less puzzled, although Bilbo thought he caught a hint of relief. “Something from Erebor of old,” he said. “This is our kingdom, Kili. This is our home. What do you think of it?”

Kili looked around at the great piles of gold, the splendid pillars vaulting up into the darkness overhead. “Is big,” he said. “Many gold.”

Fili shook his head at that, but he gave a rueful laugh. “That is certainly true, my brother,” he said.

\----

Fili presented his brother with almost every item he could lay his hands on that was neither an arm-ring nor a collar, and Kili solemnly thanked him each time, and began to look rather worried as his arms filled with precious metals and gems. Eventually, Bilbo started to take them from him and pile them on the chamber floor near his pack. Kili seemed content with this, and the whole process continued until Fili gave a delighted cry that had both Bilbo and Kili looking up in surprise. He appeared a moment later from around the corner of the great pile they were seated on, carrying two golden harps in his hands.

“Look, brother!” he said, and held out one of the harps towards Kili. “We will make a merry music with these!”

Kili took the harp from him. “Thank you Fili,” he said, and set it on his lap. To begin with, he had peered carefully at each object that Fili had given him, trying to divine its purpose, but after Bilbo had said _well, it's not really for anything_ for the fourth or fifth time, he had given this up, and since had simply accepted everything he was given and passed it on to Bilbo to put on his growing pile. But now Fili grinned at him and struck the strings of the harp he still held in his hands, and it seemed that there was some magic to it, for although it had lain uncared-for for more years than Bilbo had drawn breath, it was still in tune. Fili played a short phrase, a ripple of silvery notes, and Kili's mouth dropped open, his eyes impossibly wide. Fili grinned, and played something longer, a tune that somehow seemed to be both earthy and delicate at the same time, mournful, but in the way that makes the heart ache with sweetness rather than bitterness. Bilbo sat on the gold beside Kili and listened, and when the harp fell silent, Kili made a soft noise in his throat.

“I thought you would like that,” Fili said, and then he pointed at the harp in Kili's lap. “Yours does that too, you know.”

Kili looked down at his harp, and then at Bilbo. Bilbo smiled at him and pointed at the harp, and Kili raised a hesitant hand and touched the strings, barely brushing his fingertips against them. The sound that came from the harp was much quieter than Fili's had been, and the notes were not arranged in such pleasing phrases, but it was in tune and just as sweet and delicate. Kili's eyes widened further, if that was even possible, and he stared at his hand in apparent disbelief for a moment before brushing his fingers against the strings again, a little more forcefully this time. The notes rang out brightly, almost as if it was the song of the gold itself, and Kili closed a reverent hand around the frame of the harp and touched one finger to one string, but did not pull it away, as if he was trying to understand how such an object could create such sounds.

Fili laughed and knelt in front of his brother. “The harp's yours now, Kili,” he said. “I give it to you.”

Kili looked sharply up at him, as if he did not really believe what he was hearing. “Give me?” he whispered hoarsely.

Fili nodded. “Your harp,” he said. 

Kili's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He clutched the harp to his chest, though with the gentlest of grips, as if afraid it would shatter at a touch. He stared at his brother, stared and stared, and a smile of delight spread across Fili's face until he seemed almost to be joy itself personified. He sat down beside Kili, shoulder to shoulder, and showed him his own harp.

“Come then, brother,” he said. “Let me show you how to play it.”

\----

The harp lesson had been going on for some time when Thorin appeared at the foot of the pile of gold on which they sat. “Fili, Kili,” he said. “Come here. Mr. Baggins, you too.”

Fili quickly stood and set down his harp, then took Kili by the arm and tugged him to his feet as well, leading him down to where Thorin stood. Kili did not leave his harp, but kept it pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped around it. Bilbo followed them down, eyeing Thorin. He was wearing a mail coat that he had not had before, and beautifully worked armour on his forearms and shoulders.

Thorin waited until they were all standing on the chamber floor, then turned to Bilbo and held out a beautiful shirt made of linked rings of a metal that was coloured like silver, but shone yet more brightly. “Here is the first part of your reward, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

“Uncle, that is mithril,” said Fili, in a wondering voice, and Bilbo took the shirt, surprised by how light it was, and slipped it over his head. Thorin nodded in apparent satisfaction, and Fili grinned and clapped Bilbo on the shoulder.

“We won't need to worry about you now, Mr. Baggins!” he said. “You are the best protected of all of us.”

Thorin turned to his nephews, then, and looked them up and down. “Yes,” he said, as if to himself. “It will look well on you.” Then he produced two mail coats, handing one to Fili and holding the other up against Kili's body as if to check the size. Kili almost took a step back, but seemed to catch himself, and if Thorin noticed, he said nothing about it.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said, “I would like Kili to wear this.”

“It looks rather heavy,” Bilbo said doubtfully. 

“Better aching shoulders than torn flesh,” Thorin said, and held out the mail to Bilbo. Bilbo supposed that that was true enough, and so he took it, and after a few false starts managed to persuade Kili to put his harp down and pull the mail on, and Bilbo fastened the belt Thorin gave him around his waist, pulling it tight to the last hole, although even then it was rather too loose. The mail was the right length for him, but a little too broad in the chest and shoulders, and Thorin's mouth hardened slightly, but then he nodded. Fili smiled at his brother.

“We match,” he said. “It looks well.”

Bilbo had to admit that it did. So used was he to seeing Kili in clothes that were ragged and filthy or ill-fitting or patched together from something designed for someone much taller, it was strange indeed to see him now, to all appearances a dwarf arrayed for war (if one did not take the bare feet into account). Thorin held out a pair of steel vambraces, then, burnished and gleaming in the torchlight, with intricate devices worked on them in gold. Bilbo raised his hands, but it was Fili who spoke.

“No, uncle,” he said. “He doesn't like anything to go around his wrists.”

Thorin stood a moment, frowning down at Kili's wrists, the shackles dull and grim against his skin. Then he nodded, and set the vambraces down. He looked at Fili, who stood resplendent now, strapping a sword around his waist, and then at Kili, who stood silent, as if waiting for something. Then he smiled one of his rare smiles, laying a hand on each of their shoulders.

“The blood of Durin is strong indeed,” he said. 

\----

The blood of Durin might have been strong, but, as Bilbo pointed out, it probably was not strong enough to withstand a frontal assault from a dragon, splendid armour or no. Their best chance to stay alive was still to get out of the mountain, at least for now, and so that was what they did, though not without many a backward glance at the gold, following Thorin through many passageways to a room that was even larger and more awe-inspiring than the great chamber below, though it had no gold in it (and no dragon, either). The walls were all over carved, with complex scenes of battles and forges, at least some of them representing the creation of the dwarves by Mahal, if Bilbo was any judge, and there was a great stone throne at one end, the seat high up above the chamber floor. The other end stood open to the night air (and it was night, as it turned out, and not daytime at all), and it looked from the ragged edges of it and the clawmarks that this was where the dragon passed into and out of the mountain. 

“The Great Gate,” said Thorin, and led the company across the floor of the chamber, pausing to stand on the balcony that looked out across the ruined wastelands that lay before the mountain to the charred and broken city they had passed through a few days before. “Here I stood when first the dragon came,” he mused, but the spell was quickly broken, and he led them down and out of the gate, onto the mountainside. Even with the threat of the dragon coming back and finding them out in the open, Bilbo was relieved to see the sky again, and to breathe the outside air. He squeezed Kili's arm gently, and it seemed to him that some tension flowed out of the little dwarf as they stepped onto the turf.

There was a watchtower, so Balin said, that stood at the south-west corner of the mountain, where they would be able to take shelter and watch for the dragon's return. It was five hours' march, and they wasted no time, travelling by torchlight through the last watches of the night and arriving when the sun was two hours above the horizon, with no sign of the dragon to be seen. Bilbo might almost have wondered if he had imagined the whole thing, except that of course the dwarves had all seen it, too. Thorin bade Bifur stand first watch, and most of the company lay down to sleep for an hour or two, for they had slept little enough in the past night or so, listening always for the sound of the dragon. 

When they woke, though, Thorin seemed restless and uneasy, staring always out over the lands that lay to the south, and muttering about the strange concentration of birds that flocked dark in the sky.

“I do not like it,” he said. “We must be prepared. I wish that door had not been blocked.”

“We could unblock it,” Balin said. “After all, it is better to have two ways in -- or out.”

Thorin turned to him then with a gleam in his eye. “Do you think it is possible?”

“There's only one way to find out,” said Balin.

And so it was that Dwalin was sent with the key to unblock the secret door, if he could, and Kili was sent with him (and of course Bilbo and Fili went with Kili), for Thorin determined that the watchtower, though a shelter of sorts, was of necessity rather exposed, and if Smaug was to look for them anywhere it would be there. Privately, Bilbo thought that he was really more afraid of what Kili might do if he saw the dragon coming, and of the sheer drop that edged three sides of the watchtower, and he considered telling the dwarf king that his nephew was generally quite sensible when it came to such things, as long as they did not involve water (or ponies), but the watchtower was damp and gloomy and he was happy enough to get away from it, so he did not.

The walk to the secret door took another three hours, and it was early afternoon by the time they arrived there. The little rocky bay was choked with boulders and rocks, but the crack had been widened, a large part of the rock on one side having sheared off and tumbled to the valley floor. Dwalin stood and inspected the damage, and then turned to Fili.

“We can shift it,” he said, “but we'll need to put our backs into it.”

Fili nodded. “My back has been getting lazy of late,” he said, and picked up the nearest small boulder, throwing it down the mountainside.

“My back is perfectly happy being idle,” Bilbo said, but Dwalin and Fili ignored him, and after a moment he sighed and set to work himself, picking up the smaller rocks and stones, and rolling some of the medium-sized ones to the edge.

They had been working for perhaps a quarter hour when Dwalin stopped and straightened up, looking over to where Kili stood where Bilbo had left him, pressed up against the sheared-off edge of the entrance to the bay. He had been watching them all with a slight frown, but now he dropped his eyes and avoided Dwalin's gaze.

“I wouldn't have brought you with me if I'd known you were just going to stand around idly like an elf,” Dwalin said. “What did those orcs do to make you so afraid of hard work?”

Kili glanced sideways at Bilbo, and then briefly up at Dwalin. “I not understand,” he said.

“Mr. Dwalin wants to know if you will help us move the rocks,” Bilbo said. “Will you help us?”

To his surprise, Kili nodded vigorously and immediately stepped forward. “Yes, help,” he said. “Want help.” And he reached for the nearest boulder and picked it up with suprising ease, given its size. The orcs might have taken a lot of things from him, Bilbo mused, but they had certainly not stolen the strength of his dwarvish arms.

“Good lad,” Bilbo said, and Dwalin stood a moment, watching Kili as he methodically shifted boulder after boulder. Then he nodded as if satisfied.

“That's my boy,” he said.

\----

It took hours to clear all the rocks from the bay, and it was nearing dusk by the time they could see the edges of the door itself. It did not appear damaged -- it was magic, after all, Bilbo remembered -- and Dwalin stopped work a moment and inspected it, then turned to the others.

“A few minutes' rest,” he said. “I think the hobbit needs it.”

Bilbo would have protested, but in truth he certainly did need the rest, for hobbits have many admirable qualities but they are not hewn from stone as dwarves are. He sank to sit at the foot of the cliff, and Fili brought Kili over to sit beside him, rummaging through the little dwarf's pack and bringing out his pictures. Dwalin stood guard in the entranceway, pulling out his pipe and leaning casually against the sheared-off rock. Despite Bilbo's aching arms and back, the various scrapes and bruises he had acquired, and the ever-present threat of the dragon's return, he felt suddenly quite peaceful and as contented with his lot as anyone who is far from certain they will live to see their home again can be.

Fili, however, did not seem content. “Kili,” he said, laying out the two pictures that they had been looking at the last time they had sat in this very spot, before the dragon had blocked the door, “this is you.” He pointed to the picture of the younger Kili, laughing with his brother before the orcs had cast a shadow over both their lives. “This is you.”

Kili looked at him and down at the picture, and Bilbo sat up, for he was also anxious to understand what Kili had said, although he perhaps would have waited until they were a little more secure to ask.

“Yes,” said Kili. He pointed at the picture. “Kili.”

“Yes,” Fili replied. “But you are Kili.” He pointed firmly at Kili. “You are Kili.”

Kili nodded. “I Kili,” he said, and then turned to Bilbo with a frown. “Not is right,” he said. “How I say?”

“ _I'm_ Kili,” said Bilbo, and Kili's frown deepened.

“ _I'm_ is wrong,” he said. “Hobbit say me all day. _I_ , not _I'm_.”

“Sometimes it's _I'm_ and sometimes it's _I_ ,” said Bilbo, and Kili looked confused and perhaps even a trifle irritated, but Fili tugged on his arm to bring his attention back to the matter at hand.

“That's not important now,” he said. “You are in the picture. You see? You are in this picture with me.”

Kili looked at the picture, then back at Fili. “Picture Kili in it,” he said.

“But you _are_ Kili,” Fili said, rather sharply, and Kili started and pressed himself back into the rock of the cliff. Fili shook his head and turned to Bilbo, but Bilbo did not understand what was happening any better than Fili did. He thought for a moment, and then tried a different tack.

“Now, Master Kili,” he said, emphasising the name, “which pictures have you in them?” Kili glanced at him, and then sorted through his pictures, placing most of them in a pile. He selected only two, the one of Kili and Bilbo in the woods, and the one of Kili and Fili in Lake-Town. He pointed at these.

“Picture me in it,” he said. Fili gave a despairing groan, and Bilbo gestured to the rest of the pictures.

“But you are in all of them,” he said. “Here.” He took the top one from the pile -- the picture of the two young dwarves with their mother -- and pointed at the image of Kili. “This is you,” he said.

Kili looked like he wanted to disagree, but he dropped his head slightly and nodded.

“Kili,” he said.

“You,” said Fili firmly. “It is you.”

Kili looked from one of them to the other, and then he ducked his head. “Me,” he muttered, but he did not sound happy about it, and Fili threw his head back with a sigh.

“He does not believe us,” he said. “I don't understand why he does not believe us. He has seen his own face in the pictures!”

But then a shadow fell across them, and they looked up to see Dwalin looking down at Kili, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. After a moment, he sat down on the ground in front of the little dwarf, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees.

“You don't remember this, do you, laddie?” he said, pointing to the picture of Kili laughing with his brother.

Kili half-glanced at Dwalin, and Dwalin nodded at him. “You don't remember,” he repeated.

“No,” said Kili to his knees. “I not remember.”

“But you remember this,” said Dwalin, pointing to the picture from Lake-Town.

“Yes,” said Kili. “Remember.”

Dwalin looked up at Fili like the answer was now obvious. Fili shook his head.

“But they are both him,” he said. “Just because he doesn't remember it, doesn't mean it didn't happen to him!”

Dwalin cocked his head on one side. “Doesn't it?” he asked.

Fili stared at him, and Dwalin turned back to Kili, pointing again at the older picture. “Is this dwarf you?” he asked.

Kili considered a moment. “Dwarf same,” he said, and then looked up at Dwalin. “Head different.”

Dwalin nodded slowly. “Aye, lad,” he said. “That it is.”

“But you are the same,” Fili burst out. “You are my brother, even if you don't remember it. Kili, you are the same!”

Kili hesitated a moment, and then shook his head. “Not same,” he said, and Fili's mouth tightened.

“But you are my brother,” he said, half-pleading. “You are still my brother.”

“Yes,” Kili said, and now there was no hesitation. “Fili is brother. My brother.”

Fili's shoulders dropped, and he looked like he was not far from weeping. Dwalin rose abruptly to his feet. 

“Come on, then,” he said. “These rocks won't shift themselves.”

\----

Night was falling as they pulled the last of the rocks away from the door and found that the keyhole was still visible on this side. Dwalin fitted the key, and turned it, and the door swung inwards, the yawning blackness just as Bilbo remembered it from the first time they had done this. They slipped inside, Dwalin propping the door open with a rock, and made their way down the tunnel as quietly as they could, which was rather more quietly with three dwarves than with thirteen, but they were still dwarves after all, and every clink and scuffle set Bilbo's teeth on edge.

But they need not have worried, for when they came near the other end they heard the sound of voices, and not the voice of the dragon, either, but those of their friends. They tumbled out onto the floor of the great chamber to find Thorin standing with his shoulders thrown back, lit by a torch held by Balin and looking every inch a king in his burnished armour.

“Dwalin,” he said, nodding evenly. “Fili, Kili, Mr. Baggins. You have managed to open the door.”

“Aye, that we have,” said Dwalin. “And you have come back from the watchtower. Are you no longer afeared of the dragon?”

“We heard news from our old friends the ravens while you were gone,” Balin said. “The dragon is no more. The men of Lake-Town slew him.”

Bilbo drew in a breath. The dragon, dead? Surely it could not be so easy! He opened his mouth to ask if they were sure, but the words dried up in his throat when Dwalin sank to his knees beside him.

“Hail, Thorin,” Dwalin said, “King Under the Mountain.”

Fili knelt then, too, and one by one the other dwarves followed suit, until the only ones left standing were Bilbo, Kili, and Thorin himself, who seemed to shine like a beacon before them. Kili looked nervously at Bilbo, and then Fili's hand snaked up and pulled him to his knees. Thorin looked at Bilbo and raised his eyebrows.

“Do you not kneel before the king?” Balin hissed, sounding irate for the first time since Bilbo had met him.

“Well, I'm not sure what the protocol is,” Bilbo said. “After all, he is not my king, although he is my employer.” In truth, he knew he probably should be kneeling, but something in him protested at the idea, for this was Thorin, and not some great and distant potentate. Thorin, who snapped at him if he did not eat his dinner fast enough, and who ignored him for hours before asking his advice and then following it, and who had entrusted his youngest nephew to him though he surely had not wished to. 

Thorin, he reminded himself, who almost certainly now had the power to order Bilbo's execution should he so desire, and his knees trembled slightly.

But Thorin threw back his head and let out a bark of laughter. “Ever you are a thorn in my side, master burglar,” he said, and clapped Bilbo so hard on the shoulder that he sent the little hobbit half stumbling. “Ever may you remain so.” And he turned and gestured for the company to rise, and commanded Bombur to investigate how much food they had left before turning to inspect his gold once more.

Fili got to his feet and looked at Bilbo, seeming half-angry, half-admiring. “You have nerves of mithril, my friend,” he said.

“Well, I have faced down a live dragon,” Bilbo said. “Your uncle can hardly be more frightening than that!”

Fili raised his eyebrows. “Do you not think?” he said, and then lifted his brother from where he still knelt and patted his shoulder. “I'm going to find my harp,” he announced to him, and set off towards the gold.

Kili watched him go, and then looked at Bilbo. “What happen?” he said. “Why go-- go--” He pointed to the ground, and then to his knees.

“You uncle has reclaimed his kingdom,” said Bilbo. “He is truly king now.”

Kili looked blank. “What is _king_ mean?” he asked.

“Well, I suppose it means that this is all over,” Bilbo said, with a reluctance that made little sense to him, given the number of times he had longed for his adventure to be over and done with. “I suppose I will take my gold and go back to the Shire.”

Kili, of course, did not understand this, but Bilbo did not explain it to him. Instead, he took the little dwarf in search of his brother, and sat and watched as the two of them played their harps together, Fili encouraging his brother with kind words and gentle touch, and Kili's fingers fumbling and unpractised but his face shining with solemn delight. After all, it seemed as if Kili did not need him much any more -- he was safe now in his uncle's kingdom, he was much improved in behaviour and mood as well as able to make himself mostly understood, and he was no longer afraid of his brother and not much more of his uncle than seemed sensible. He had even remembered something, and would probably remember more if he was given the time and space to do so. Bilbo had agreed to help the dwarves regain their gold and their kingdom, and now that they had done both, there was nothing much to keep him here.

Nothing much at all.


	28. Chapter 28

Bilbo pulled his belongings from his pack and spread them around himself on the floor. There was little here that he had had when he had begun this journey, and what there was was patched and mended to within an inch of its life. He was not even sure if his clothes could still be considered the same garments, so little of the original cloth was left. But now, of course, he would be able to buy as many new clothes as he wanted. A thirteenth share of all the gold in Erebor. It was almost unthinkable.

Unthinkable it may have been, but the truth was that Bilbo wasn't really trying to think about it at all. If he had, he might have worried about how he was going to get all of his gold back to the Shire, across the long, weary miles that they had been travelling for so many months. He might have worried about the fact that winter was now upon them, or that they had barely escaped with their lives any number of times on the way there even with twelve well-armed dwarves in the party, and on the way back Bilbo would be alone. But he was not really thinking about the journey back at all, or even about his comfortable hobbit hole that awaited him at the end of it. He was thinking about the hollow feeling in his stomach, and the fact that he did not feel relieved and satisfied by the end of the quest, but rather uneasy and melancholy, and he did not know why.

After a while, Fili appeared, smiling broadly and leading his brother by the arm. “Hello, Mr. Baggins!” he said, surveying the circle of Bilbo's belongings. “What are you about?”

Bilbo frowned. “Just thinking about how I'm going to get everything back home,” he said. 

“Home?” Fili asked, and then seemed to understand. “Oh! But you don't need to worry about that for a while yet, surely? You cannot be intending to go anywhere until winter is over, at least?”

“Well, what is the reason for me to stay?” Bilbo asked, feeling suddenly rather irritable. “You have your precious gold. Isn't that what you wanted?”

Fili frowned, now. “But I thought--” he said, and then glanced at Kili, who seemed to be trying to follow the conversation but apparently not quite succeeding. “I mean, Kili still needs you, and I thought--”

“Kili needs his family,” Bilbo said. “Is that not what you and your uncle have been telling me since the beginning? And I did not sign a contract to look after an addle-brained dwarf for the rest of my life, after all!”

Fili looked suddenly rather hurt, and he pulled Kili a little closer to him. “And have you not always been telling us that his brain is not addled?” he said. “And didn't you -- you don't think of him that way, do you? You have always seemed so happy to be talking to him!”

“Oh, drat you wretched dwarves!” Bilbo burst out, feeling close to tears for no reason that he could understand. “You spend months crashing around being loud and angry and impatient and scaring the poor lad half out of his wits, and then you think that because I actually take the time to try and understand him, that means I should be grateful to take on all responsibility for him! It is true, you care for nothing but gold!”

Fili's face hardened, then, and he drew himself up, suddenly looking rather regal and not a little like his uncle. “Very well, Mr. Baggins,” he said distantly. “You have my gratitude for the help you have given us, and my uncle's, too, and of course you shall have your share of the gold. Beyond that, you are, of course, free to do what you wish.”

“Well, and I will,” Bilbo snapped. “Just let me explain to Kili and then I shall be on my way directly!” This, of course, was certainly over-ambitious, for it was evening outside, and Bilbo still had not even thought about how he might transport even a small portion of his gold.

“I will explain to him,” said Fili. “I would not want to increase the burden he has placed upon you these past months.”

And he turned away, and pulled Kili with him, though the little dwarf glanced back at Bilbo, face troubled.

Bilbo sat down heavily on the floor and looked at his scattered possessions, and at the great piles of gold. He had been unreasonable, and he knew it, somewhere underneath his irritation. But instead of the relief he had been expecting, it seemed he was experiencing all the misery and anxiety and fear of the journey all over again. His stomach churned, and he felt like his heart was breaking, and he could not bear it. No, he was a hobbit, and he belonged in his hobbit hole and not here in this cold, echoing mountain with nothing to light it but piles of gold. This was not his home.

It was not.

\----

Fili came back not half an hour later, Kili no longer by his side, and Bilbo braced himself for more sharp words. But the young dwarf did not raise his voice, although his tone was cold and flat.

“I have tried to explain,” he said. “But it seems I must increase your burden after all, Mr. Baggins. Please do this last favour for my family, and then we shall let you be, if that is what you want.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, getting to his feet, and although he should perhaps have dreaded having to explain to Kili, he felt strangely cheered by the fact that the little dwarf would not take the news from anyone else, even his own brother. He followed where Fili pointed, and soon found Kili sitting on the ground with his back to a pillar. He looked small and dishevelled, even in his fine armour, and when Bilbo appeared he looked up sharply and made to get to his feet, though Bilbo waved him down and sat beside him.

“Hello, my lad,” he said. “I have something to tell you.” But now that it came to it, he found he did not want to tell Kili. He wanted to tell him about how to talk about things that had happened in the past, or what it meant to have a home, or what it would be like in the future, living in Erebor as its prince. He supposed someone else would have to tell Kili all that, now, and he squeezed his hands into fists and felt a tightness in his throat.

“Fili say hobbit go,” said Kili. He looked up at Bilbo from under his eyelashes. “Hobbit go?”

Bilbo sighed. “Yes, my lad,” he said. “I must go.”

Kili's shoulders hunched a little more. “I'm go with hobbit?” he asked.

“No, no,” Bilbo said. “This is your home! You will stay here, with your brother. He can look after you far better than I can, anyway.”

Kili did not reply to this, but seemed to shrink into himself even more, staring at the floor. Bilbo felt a pang in his stomach that was certainly guilt and could not have been regret, for after all Kili was so much improved, and everything had turned out as well as he could have ever hoped, and why should he then have any cause for regret? He patted the little dwarf's arm, but Kili pulled away slightly. Bilbo shook his head.

“Come now, my lad,” he said. “You will have your brother, and your uncle, and I'm sure your mother will come here as soon as she hears what has happened. You will be perfectly happy without me, I think.”

Kili did not look perfectly happy, or even a little happy. He looked wretched, in fact, and Bilbo tried to think of a way to cheer him up. “Would you like to play your harp?” he asked, pointing to the instrument where it stood nearby. But Kili did not look at him, nor at the harp, and Bilbo shuffled round to sit in front of him and ducked his head, trying to see into the little dwarf's face.

“Come come, my lad,” he said. “There is no need to sulk about it.”

Kili's eyes flicked to him, and then back to the floor. “Why hobbit go?” he said. “Hobbit not friend now?”

“Oh!” said Bilbo, sitting back on his heels. “No, that is not it at all! Of course I am your friend. I always will be. But that does not mean I will always be able to be by your side.”

Kili frowned long and hard, and finally shook his head. “I not understand _friend_ ,” he said, and then hunched even further into himself. “Goodbye hobbit,” he muttered, sounding sullenly resigned.

Bilbo opened his mouth and then closed it again. He felt suddenly rather like he might cry, and he stood up abruptly. 

“Well, goodbye then,” he said, and waited for Kili to reply. But Kili was silent, and after a few moments, Bilbo turned away.

\----

Bilbo was stuffing his clothes back into his bag rather more viciously than was necessary when Ori appeared from around a nearby pile of gold, smiling at him and looking really quite un-Ori-like in a bright chainmail coat and leather vambraces.

“Mr. Baggins!” he said, and then his smile faded a little as he took in the sight of Bilbo. “Are you all right?” he said. “Has something happened?”

“Yes!” Bilbo said, amazed once more at the thick-headedness of dwarves. “Of course something has happened! The dragon is dead, and you have all got your gold and your kingdom, that is what has happened!”

Ori's smile widened again. “It's amazing, isn't it?” he said. Then he frowned. “But you are packing? Are you going somewhere?”

“Back home, of course,” Bilbo said. “It is not my kingdom, after all.” His tone was quite abrupt, but he did not think he could cope with explaining himself to each member of the company in turn.

In the end, he did not explain himself to anyone else at all, for Ori sat down abruptly in front of him and stared incredulously.

“Whatever do you mean?” he said. “Of course it is your kingdom, if you want it. And you can't go and leave Kili here with us! We will do a frightful job of helping him, you know that!”

“Helping him is _not my job_ ,” said Bilbo, feeling like he should somehow hire a town crier to proclaim it through the streets of Erebor.

“Well, no,” Ori said. “It is not a job at all. But don't you want to help him? Isn't he your friend?”

Bilbo didn't answer, for it was true, of course, Kili was his friend, and he did want to help him, he wanted to help all of them, these blasted dwarves that had somehow crawled into his heart when he wasn't looking. But he did not belong here, in this gloomy, dwarven kingdom. He belonged in his hobbit hole, in front of the fire, eating toast and, and -- and doing whatever it was he used to do before he set out on this adventure.

Ori waited for a moment, but when Bilbo kept silent, he looked suddenly rather sad.

“Well, Mr. Baggins,” he said, “I suppose you came with us to help us get home, so I can't blame you for wanting to go home, too. And of course you must do what you want.”

“Thank you, Ori,” said Bilbo and he surprised himself, because he sounded for a moment exactly like Kili. He wondered what Ori would draw next, and how Kili would react to it, and then shook his head. It did not matter, for he would not see it. He would back in his own little house, in his own little life, and he would no longer be responsible for trying to glue together the pieces of Kili that the orcs had scattered far and wide. He would be free, as he had been before, carrying no burden but that of what to eat for supper, and with no fear of anyone knocking on the door and demanding his help. It sounded like everything he had dreamed of for the last few months, sounded peaceful and safe and--

\--lonely.

Ori smiled sadly at him. “Don't go without saying goodbye,” he said, and stood up to leave. Bilbo watched him go, and thought about sitting in his armchair hundreds of miles away and not knowing what it was that Ori had drawn next. And he made a decision, or changed one he had already made, and he felt suddenly the relief and happiness that he had been expecting ever since the news of the dragon's death, felt a burden lift from his shoulders so that he was suddenly light enough he almost thought he could float.

“Thank you, Ori,” he said again.

\----

When Bilbo made his way back over to where Kili had been sitting, he found the little dwarf still there, with his brother beside him now. Fili had his arm around Kili's shoulders, but Kili still looked small and huddled, and Bilbo recognised the pang in his heart now, and it was not all guilt, not at all. He knelt in front of the brothers, and Fili frowned at him, but Kili looked up from under his eyelashes and his hands twitched a little as if he wanted to reach out but dared not. Even that little movement was enough to show Bilbo that he had been a fool. Kili was much improved, it was true, but he was in no way better, or even close to it, and this shadowy, empty kingdom with its piles of gold that Kili cared nothing for and its dwarves who tried to help but were all sharp edges and heavy feet, none of this would heal him by itself. And it was not Bilbo's job, not his responsibility, certainly not, but he found, when he looked inside himself, that he would give what he could willingly, that he would stay, of course he would stay, because his friends needed him, and being needed was often painful and difficult, but it was far better than not being needed at all.

“Hello, my lad,” he said to Kili. “I've decided I will not go yet.”

Kili looked up properly then, his face half-hopeful, half-suspicious. “Hobbit not go?” he said. 

Bilbo nodded. “It's coming on winter, after all,” he said. “A bad time to start a journey. And you know, I am determined to teach you how _do_ works if it's the last thing I do.”

Kili almost certainly did not comprehend half of what Bilbo said, but he certainly caught the most important part, for he nodded and reached out, now, grasping Bilbo's upper arm as if he was afraid he might simply vanish (which, of course, Bilbo sometimes did). “Yes,” he said. “Yes, not go. Hobbit not go.”

Bilbo laughed, and then, rather on impulse, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Kili, pressing him to his chest. Kili's armour was rather uncomfortable, but Bilbo squeezed him tight nonetheless, and Kili settled his chin in the corner between Bilbo's neck and his shoulder and seemed content enough to be embraced. 

“Not go,” he whispered in Bilbo's ear, and Bilbo sat back and smiled at him. 

“Do not go,” he said. “ _Do_.” 

“Do,” said Kili, though it was obvious to Bilbo he did not understand how the word fitted in. Then Bilbo suddenly remembered Fili, and he looked quickly over to him.

“That is, if your brother doesn't object,” he said to Kili. “I am a guest, after all.”

But the cold look on Fili's face had disappeared entirely, replaced with a relieved smile. 

“I could not object less, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “I am so glad. I don't know what we would have done without you!” 

“Well,” said Bilbo, feeling his cheeks go rather pink, “I suppose you won't have to find out!”

Fili nodded, and then reached forward and embraced Bilbo himself, his arms tight around Bilbo's back. Bilbo got a faceful of Fili's hair, but he smiled through it. When Fili let go, though, his face had become serious.

“Thank Mahal for that,” he said.

Bilbo nodded. “Well, now that's decided, I wonder what we should do next?” he said. “How does one go about rebuilding a kingdom, anyway?”

“First we must find the Arkenstone,” said Fili. “And after that I suppose there will be a lot of clearing of rubble to do, and mending of walls and so on. We'll need to get the forges going and--” He stopped then, and turned speculative eyes on Kili. “Forges,” he said. “Mr. Baggins, there must be forges in Erebor!”

“Well, of course,” Bilbo said. “It is a dwarven kingdom, after all. I imagine there are more forges than bathrooms!”

Fili was already getting to his feet, though, and pulling Kili up after him. “My uncle will know where they are,” he said. “Come on! We must find him!”

And he hurried off, towing his brother behind him, and Bilbo had to jog to catch up.

\----

They found Thorin on his knees atop a pile of gold, carefully moving object after object aside, as if digging for buried treasure. Buried treasure was certainly not something that was difficult to find, but since it was buried in other treasure, Bilbo was not quite sure why anyone would bother. Fili struggled up the side of the pile, dislodging trinkets every which way, and Bilbo, coming behind with nimbler feet, found himself having to dodge regularly out of the way, until he skirted sideways and came up a different face. Finally, though, they all stood before Thorin, and the dwarf king got to his feet and looked them all up and down.

“Have you news of the Arkenstone?” he said.

Bilbo frowned, for it was the second time in ten minutes he had heard that particular word, although with Fili's excitement over forges he had not thought to ask what it meant. Now did not seem to be the right time, though, for Fili was speaking, his voice full of suppressed excitement.

“No, we have not seen it,” he said. “But uncle, you must show us where the forges are. If we can get them burning, we will be able to remove Kili's shackles!”

Bilbo suddenly understood what all of this was about, and rather kicked himself for not thinking of it before. Of course, there had been the business with the dragon, and the watchtower and clearing the secret door, and really they had only just discovered that they were out of danger, but all the same, it seemed Bilbo had got so used to seeing the ugly collar around Kili's neck that he had forgotten it was possible to take it off, if they only had the tools. Now he squeezed Kili's elbow and waited expectantly for Thorin's reply.

Thorin looked at Kili, and nodded. “Of course,” he said, “we will remove them as soon as we have found the Arkenstone.”

Fili frowned. “Can we not go now?” he asked. “The others can look for the stone, and we can start repairing the forges.”

Thorin shook his head. “We must find it,” he said. “All the gold in Erebor is worth nothing without it.”

His voice had an odd quality to it, less present than usual, and Bilbo found himself frowning, too.

“But--” Fili started, and Thorin turned on him, then, eyes flashing and mouth twisted.

“But me no buts, nephew,” he said. “Have I not impressed on you again and again how important the stone is? Your brother has worn those chains for twenty-five years, he can wait a few more days.”

Fili took a step back, then, his eyes going wide, and Bilbo felt his mouth drop open. A surge of anger flowed through him, but there was something quite unsettling about Thorin as he stood there gazing angrily upon his nephew, and Bilbo did not speak out, fearing to make matters worse somehow.

“Well?” said Thorin. “What say you?”

Fili nodded slowly. “Of course,” he said. “We will look for the stone first.”

Thorin nodded then, a fond smile coming across his face, and he laid a hand on Fili's shoulder. “Your mother would be proud if she could see you now,” he said.

Fili did not reply to this, but hastily took his leave, and dragged Kili back down to the chamber floor and halfway to the entrance to the secret tunnel before stopping and glancing over his shoulder. Thorin had disappeared, presumably looking for his stone in amongst the mountains of gold, and Bilbo shook his head and frowned.

“What is this Arkenstone?” he said. 

“It is--” Fili said, his tone sharp, and then seemed to reconsider and drew a breath. “It is a gem of incalculable value,” he said. “It is beautiful beyond the dreams of kings, and it is the symbol of Erebor. Without it, my uncle cannot truly claim the kingship.” He looked at Bilbo, but although his voice was firm, there was a look of uncertainty in his eyes. “It is the most important thing, of course it is.”

“I see,” Bilbo said, feeling unease settle in his stomach as he thought of the beautiful jewel he had picked up the day before. “What does it look like?” 

“I have never seen it, of course,” said Fili. “But it is a large white gem, they tell me, and unmistakeable in its beauty.”

Bilbo felt cold. He should just take the gem from his pocket and give it to Fili, he knew, but something about the way Thorin's mouth had twisted when he spoke of it gave him pause. Thorin, who had been so desperate to see the collar removed from his nephew's neck, and now seemed to place this as lesser in importance than a jewel, be it never so stupendous. Bilbo knew that dwarves loved gold, and that Thorin loved Erebor, but he had known the dwarf king for some time now, and he had truly thought he loved his nephews most of all.

“Well,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “I suppose we had better look for it.”

\----

Look they did, deep into the night, and then they slept and when they woke they looked again. But they did not find the Arkenstone, of course, for Bilbo had it in his pocket the entire time. Sometimes they saw Thorin, who always demanded if they had seen the gem, but for the most part Fili seemed to go out of his way to avoid his uncle, and Bilbo was quite happy to do the same. As the next day drew on, though, Fili grew increasingly restless, and finally he sat down on a large wooden chest of coins and gave an exasperated sigh.

“It is no good,” he said. “We could be looking for years and never find it! I do not understand why we can't go to the forge while Thorin and the others look.”

“Well, there's no reason we shouldn't,” Bilbo said. “After all, Thorin is not the only one who knows where things are in Erebor. Did not Balin live here as a young dwarf, and Dwalin too?”

“They did,” Fili said slowly. “But they will do what my uncle tells them.”

“And if your uncle does not tell them anything at all?” Bilbo asked. Fili stared at him.

“You think I should disobey him?” he asked.

“I think he has his kingdom back already,” Bilbo said. “I think the Arkenstone has been lost for over a hundred and fifty years, and I'm sure it can wait a few more days.”

Fili grimaced as he recognised his uncle's phrase, but then he looked at his brother, eyeing the collar around his neck with intense dislike. “It isn't fair,” he said quietly. “It isn't fair to make him wear that thing when we could take it off.”

“No,” Bilbo said. “It isn't fair, and your uncle is rather out of sorts, or he would agree with us.”

“He is putting the kingdom first, as is his duty,” said Fili, although he didn't sound very sure.

“And what is your duty?” Bilbo asked.

Fili looked at his brother again, and then got to his feet.

“Dwalin, then,” he said. “Let us find Dwalin.”

\----

Dwalin seemed happy enough to take an hour out of his search to take them to one of the many forges of the mountain. He had been only a young dwarf when the kingdom had fallen, but dwarves remember well any paths that lie underground, and after turning aside a few times when passageways were blocked with rubble, he finally entered a great room that seemed all chimney and hearth. It was littered with rubbish and stones, and the hearth was blackened and long cold. Fili sighed impatiently, and Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder.

“It'll be a long job, indeed,” he said. “But worth it.”

And he took his leave, leaving Bilbo and Fili to contemplate the task ahead of them.

“I'm sure there was no mention of constantly shifting rocks around in my contract!” Bilbo said, but he set to with only a relatively small amount of grumbling, and after a moment remembered to ask Kili to help, which he did with enthusiasm. Between the three of them, they worked rather rapidly, especially as they did not care to carry the rocks all the way out of the mountain, but instead stacked them in the passageway, making sure not to block it entirely. By the time evening grew near (according to Fili, who seemed to be better at telling the time underground than Bilbo was), the forge itself was clear of rubble, and Fili inspected it critically.

“Will we be able to light it?” Bilbo asked. He had little idea of how forges worked, or how they might be able to get the shackles off Kili without burning his skin.

“It's damaged,” Fili said, and pointed. “Here and here. I don't know if the chimney will draw properly. And it may be blocked, of course.” He stuck his head under the chimney and peered up, then pulled back and shook his head. “It might be blocked, or it might just be dark outside,” he said. “We'll have to come back in the morning, I suppose, or we risk smoking ourselves out.”

“What is?” Kili asked, looking at the forge with interest, and Fili turned to him and smiled.

“Well, I won't get this one wrong, anyway,” he said. “It's a forge, Kili. _Forge_.”

“Forge,” said Kili. “What forge make? Forge is make food?”

Fili laughed. “No, my brother,” he said. “It is for making things out of metal. Do you know _metal_?” He glanced at Bilbo, and Bilbo nodded.

“Yes, yes, metal,” Kili said. “Is metal, is stone, dwarf is--” He frowned, and Bilbo frowned, too, for it was the same thing the little dwarf had said a few days ago in the tunnel.

“Dwarvish flesh and dwarvish bone,” Fili said absently, and then blinked and looked sharply at his brother. “Where did you learn that? Mr. Baggins, did you teach him?”

“I don't even know what it is,” Bilbo said. “Kili?”

“Dwarf is fish and dwarf is bone,” Kili said. “It is right?”

“But where did you learn it?” Fili asked urgently. 

Kili seemed to understand, then, and he stood for a moment, deep in thought. When he looked up at Fili, he seemed rather hesitant.

“You teach me?” he said.

Fili shook his head. “Not me.”

Kili nodded slowly. “Not know where learn,” he said. “Just know.”

“You just know,” Fili said slowly, and then he reached out and laid his hands on his brother's shoulders and stared at him for a moment. “ _Here is metal, here is stone, dwarvish flesh and dwarvish bone_ ,” he said. “ _Flesh_ , not _fish_.”

Kili nodded and mouthed the rhyme to himself, then repeated it, and Fili corrected him, and by the fourth time he had it right. And when he repeated it with the words perfect, Fili beamed, and Kili stared at him solemnly.

“I remember,” he said. “You happy because I remember, is it?”

“Yes,” Fili said, his voice cracking just a little. “Yes, I am happy because you remembered.”

“I want remember,” Kili said then. “Want be Kili.”

“Oh, my brother,” Fili said, and now he pulled him into his arms. “You are Kili,” he said. “You are Kili.”

\----

They decided to leave the forge for the next day, and made their way back to the great chamber, Fili apparently having easily memorised the route they had taken and successfully avoiding all the blocked-off tunnels. When they arrived there, the chamber was abuzz with activity, and Thorin stood in the centre of it all, listening to Balin, who was whispering in his ear.

“They've found it!” said Fili, and Bilbo wondered for a moment if maybe they had indeed, for perhaps the stone in his pocket was not the coveted Arkenstone at all, but simply another trinket, albeit a very beautiful one. But Thorin raised his arms for silence, and an expectant hush fell across the company.

“We have heard from the ravens again,” he said. “The men of Lake-Town march this way, armed and ready for battle. With them come the elves of Mirkwood.”

A great murmur ran through the assembled company, and Bilbo exchanged an alarmed glance with Fili. Elves and men, marching on Erebor? But what for?

“They come here to claim the gold that is rightfully ours,” Thorin said. “They come here to steal the kingdom we have only just regained. They think us weak because we are few, but they have not bargained on the strength that lies in Durin's folk.”

There was a ragged cheer at this, although it was somewhat undermined by the nervous shifting of the dwarves. Only Thorin stood firm, and Dwalin beside him, both looking every inch a warrior, and Bilbo found himself quite against his will believing that the two of them could take on all the men and elves single-handed and live to recount the victory.

“But what does it mean?” asked Gloin, and Thorin threw back his shoulders and stood proud in his gleaming armour.

“It means that we must prepare ourselves for war,” he said.


	29. Chapter 29

The armies of lake-men and wood-elves were four days' march from the mountain, according to Thorin's ravens, and there was a great deal to do. Even the hunt for the Arkenstone was postponed, for, as Balin said, there would be little use finding it if their enemies could simply walk into the mountain and take it. Instead, the dwarves set to work fortifying the Great Gate, building a sturdy wall across it with remarkable skill and rapidity. Bilbo, who was an indifferent labourer at the best of times, and certainly no kind of mason at all, was set to fetch and carry and mix mortar, and sent off from time to time to check the other entrances to the mountains, in company with Balin. All were blocked, save the secret door; and after a lengthy discussion with Balin, Thorin agreed that this latter should be kept open, if at all possible, for it was a foolish dwarf who would wall himself in entirely. But Dwalin and Gloin were sent to block up the crack that led into the rocky bay, so that there was no sign at all from the outside that there was anything like an entrance. If they needed to escape that way, they would have to climb over the walls of the bay; but the dwarves seemed sure that they could do so, if needed, and they promised they would help Bilbo, if it came to it.

So they worked through day and night, and when they were not working, they were sleeping, so that there was no time to go back to the forge and see if they could repair it. Kili set to with the rest, once he was asked, and showed a surprising talent for squaring stone, although he was a dwarf, after all, and perhaps some things are simply inborn. He seemed content enough, though sometimes he frowned up at the great wall they were building as if trying to understand what it was for. But Bilbo did not tell him, and neither did anyone else.

On the evening of the third day, the work was complete, and when darkness fell, a great light of campfires was visible in the ruined lands that lay to the south of the mountain. The company stood on the balcony and stared out, bracing themselves against the chill wind, and no-one spoke, though surely all were thinking similar thoughts. Bilbo was wishing that they could simply send a messenger to the lake-men and ask them what it would take for them to go away; but he knew as well as they all did that, although there were certainly honourable men such as Bard to be found in their company, they were most likely still loyal to the Master, who had tried to imprison both Kili and Bilbo in an attempt to trick them out of their gold. And they had allied themselves with the elves of Mirkwood, and Bilbo had not forgotten them, either. And so the dwarves simply stood and stared, long into the night, and when they slept it was fitful and far from restful.

In the morning, the companies of men and elves could be seen marching up from the south, and before them rode a fast party bearing the standards of Lake-Town and the Greenwood. Fili quickly led his brother inside -- for Thorin had commanded his face not be seen by either the men or the elves -- and then came back to stand by his uncle, his face grim but unafraid. The mounted group rode up to the foot of the wall and stood looking up, and Bilbo saw to his surprise that they were led by Bard himself.

“Hail, Thorin, King Under the Mountain!” cried Bard. “I am Bard of Lake-Town, and it is glad I am to see you alive, for I had thought to find your bones and those of your company. But why do you fence yourself in thus? We parted friends when last we met.”

“We parted friends, indeed,” Thorin said. “And yet you march to my kingdom armed and allied with those who bear us nothing but ill-will. Is this the act of a friend? Do you deny that you seek to steal my rightful property?”

“We are not thieves, Thorin King,” called Bard. “We come only to claim what is ours. It was my hand that slew the dragon and wrested you back your kingdom, and we have seen much damage from that struggle, and our homes are burned and our children hungry. And many are the treasures that lie in yonder mountain that were never yours to begin with, nor your grandfather's, but that were stolen from Dale and from Lake-Town that was, aye, and from further afield, too. And those belong to us, and to me, as the rightful descendant of Girion, Lord of Dale. And over and above all, when I ferried your company across the lake, you promised me a handsome reward. I therefore ask a twelfth part of the treasure of Erebor for the men of Lake-Town.”

He fell silent, then, and Bilbo found himself with much to think on. He had not known that Bard was anything more than a grim-faced but kind fisherman, and yet here he claimed descent from the Lord of Dale! And he had not thought much, either, on what the dragon might have done before he was slain, for he had only been happy to see him gone. In truth, the claims to treasure that Bard laid out seemed quite fair to Bilbo, and he hoped that Thorin would see the justice in them and give what was demanded of him, and then they could all get on with rebuilding the kingdom and stop all this nonsense.

But Bilbo had reckoned without Thorin's stubbornness, and even more without the strange mood that had been on him since he first laid eyes on his grandfather's gold. And in his desire to end the business as fast as possible, he had also forgotten that Bard had seen fit to bring the elves to Thorin's doorstep, though surely not knowing what they had done -- and almost done. 

“You have many claims, Bard of Lake-Town,” Thorin said, “and some are just, but most are not. We are not thieves, either, and you will receive your payment for the assistance that you have rendered us. But Smaug's deeds are not our doing, and we will not pay compensation for them, nor will we pay anything at all while you stand with your hands on your sword-hilts at our gate. Furthermore, there will be no parley and no friendship between our peoples while you stand shoulder to shoulder with the King of Mirkwood, for he has done many cruel deeds to my people, and he has no right to hold his head high before my kingdom.”

Bard looked grimmer even than usual at this reply. “We will give you time to reconsider, O King Under the Mountain,” he said. “I suggest you consult with those wiser than yourself concerning the justice of our claims.”

Thorin's jaw clenched at that, but he gave no reply, and Bard wheeled his horse and rode away, followed by his party. A murmur ran through the company, then, and Bilbo turned to Thorin, hoping to talk some sense into him.

“Can't you just give them what they want?” he asked. “Even with a twelfth part given away, there will still be more gold left than there is water in the ocean! And it is hardly fair that they should lose their homes when it was us that woke the dragon up in the first place.”

Thorin drew himself up. “They have no right to the gold,” he said, “and no right to demand we help them in their misery. If, indeed, they even are miserable, for we have no proof that their homes have been burned at all.”

“What?” Bilbo said. “But Bard is an honourable man! He would not lie about such a thing.”

“He is an envoy from the Master of Lake-Town,” Thorin said, “and I need not remind you that _he_ accused you and my nephew of murder in order to lay his greedy hands on our gold. Think you that he would not stoop to lying to get what he wants?”

“Well, even if they are lying about the homes, which I don't think they are,” said Bilbo, “they did kill the dragon, we know that at least. And wouldn't it be better to avoid a war?”

“Why do you thus pester me with foolish questions?” Thorin asked now, glaring at Bilbo. “You know nothing of war, nor of the wily ways of elves and men. When I want something burgled, I will come to you; until then, hold your tongue, Mr. Baggins!”

Bilbo opened his mouth angrily, but Fili was suddenly pulling him away. “Mr. Baggins,” he said, “someone should be with my brother. He may wander off and get lost.”

Bilbo was on the verge of pointing out that Kili very rarely moved from where they put him without a direct request, and that anyway Fili was quite capable of looking after his own brother, but this latter sounded far too like his outburst of a few days before, of which he now felt rather ashamed, and so instead he turned on his heel and stormed inside, dropping down abruptly next to Kili, who of course had not gone anywhere at all, but sat with his back against one of the great pillars in the throne room. Bilbo crossed his arms and sighed in exasperation, and Kili gave him a curious frown.

“Hobbit angry,” he said.

“No, I'm not,” said Bilbo.

Kili looked entirely unconvinced, and Bilbo sighed, though this time with less frustration. “Well, a little angry, I suppose,” he said, and then shook his head. “That dratted dwarf,” he muttered, more to himself than to Kili.

“What is _dratted_?” Kili asked.

“Oh,” Bilbo said. “Well, it is -- it is something you say when you don't like something, or it is giving you trouble. But you probably shouldn't say it. It's not a nice word, really.”

Kili stared at him, unblinking. “Hobbit angry dwarf,” he said. “Which dwarf?”

Bilbo considered telling him, and then decided it would not really be fair. Thorin might be acting the fool, but he was still the lad's uncle, and their relationship was fragile enough as it was. “Never you mind,” he said instead, patting Kili's knee. “It is not you, and not your brother, either, and that is all you need to concern yourself with.”

Kili fell silent at that, but after a moment or two, he spoke again.

“Hobbit,” he said, “what is happen?”

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked. 

“I hear,” Kili said, and then thought for a moment. “I hear big words,” he decided. 

“Big?” Bilbo said. “Do you mean long? Words that take a long time to say?”

“No, not long,” Kili said, shaking his head. “High words. High words?”

“I don't understand,” Bilbo said, and Kili made a quiet noise of frustration and then sat and stared at his knees, before finally looking up and pointing to the other side of the throne room.

“Hobbit go there,” he said. “Speak high words. I hear. Words high, I hear. Words low, not hear.”

“Oh!” Bilbo said. “Loud! You heard Thorin shouting. _Shout_.”

“Shout,” said Kili. “Shout is high words?”

“Shout is to speak loudly,” Bilbo said. “ _Loud_ , not _high_.”

Kili nodded slowly and repeated the new words. Then he paused for a moment, as if recollecting himself. “I hear shout,” he said. “Thorin shout. What is happen?”

Bilbo tried to think of a way to explain without scaring the little dwarf too much. He did not need to know that both the elves who had imprisoned him and the men who had tried were outside, after all. “Well,” he said, “some people have come to talk to Thorin, but they can't come inside, so Thorin has to shout down to them.”

Kili considered this. “Not can come dwarfs do make stone door?” he said, and then shook his head. “Not can come _because_ dwarfs do make stone door.”

“That's right,” Bilbo said. “The dwarves blocked the door, so they can't come in.”

“Why make stone door?” Kili asked.

“Because--” Bilbo searched for something convincing but not frightening “--we are safe now. We are nice and safe and nothing can hurt us in here.”

Kili did not seem entirely satisfied with this explanation, but he did not ask more about it. Instead, he turned to another question. “Dwarfs go--” he said, and then seemed to get stuck. He waved at the balcony. “Go window,” he said, “see sky.”

“Outside,” Bilbo supplied.

“Yes, out,” Kili said. “All dwarfs go out, I not go. Why I not go out?”

“Well,” Bilbo said, “we want to make sure that you are the safest one of all.” And although it actually was the truth, Kili did not seem satisfied by this reply either, but sat staring at Bilbo with a frown, until they were both distracted by the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the stone floor.

It was Thorin.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said coolly, and then looked at his nephew. “Kili, come here.”

Kili cast Bilbo a doubtful glance, and Bilbo nodded, although he felt rather uneasy. Kili got to his feet and took a half-step towards his uncle, and Thorin made an impatient gesture and grasped Kili by the elbow, already turning away. Bilbo scrambled to his feet.

“Er,” he said, “where are you taking him?”

Thorin turned back and raised an eyebrow. “What concern is it of yours?”

An irritated reply formed on Bilbo's tongue, but something about Thorin's expression made him swallow it down. “Well,” he said, doing his best to sound conciliatory, “we were in the middle of a lesson, that's all.”

“It will have to wait,” Thorin said. “It is time you learned something of your heritage, my nephew.”

And he pulled Kili away, striding across the throne room in the direction of the tunnel that led down to the great chamber. Bilbo thought he heard the word _Arkenstone_ , and he felt unease sour in his stomach.

“I wish that wretched stone had never been carved,” he muttered.

\----

Bilbo found himself at something of a loose end, after that, and eventually he wandered back out onto the balcony. Most of the company had disappeared, but Fili sat watch, staring out at the distant armies. Bilbo sat down beside him and sighed.

“Fili, your uncle,” he said. “Do you think he is-- I mean, he does not seem himself these days.”

“What do you mean?” Fili said, but there was a slight twist to his lips. “He is under a great deal of strain, that is all.”

“Strain, yes,” said Bilbo. “Do you think the strain might have -- affected him badly?”

Fili frowned at him now. “Say what you mean, master hobbit,” he said.

“Well,” Bilbo said, “this whole business with the Arkenstone, for a start.”

Fili sat looking at him for a moment, but then he shook his head. “It is only that you are not a dwarf,” he said. “Some things are impossible to explain.”

“So he is acting as any other dwarf would in these circumstances, is he?” Bilbo said. “All the things he has said?”

Fili looked rather pained for a moment, but when he spoke, he sounded angry. “Are you accusing my uncle of something, Mr. Baggins? If you are, I would hear it.”

“No!” said Bilbo, raising his hands hastily. “No, Master Fili, let us just forget I said anything.”

Fili nodded stiffly, and Bilbo let the silence stretch for a little while before he sighed and gestured out towards the encampment.

“This is all rather a mess, though, isn't it?” he said.

Fili gave him a rueful look, anger apparently forgotten. “I can't help thinking-- But no, never mind.”

“What?” Bilbo said, and when Fili didn't answer, he turned to face him. “Come, Master Fili, what is it?”

“Oh, it is ridiculous,” Fili said.

Bilbo chuckled at that. “Everything we have done since leaving the Shire has been ridiculous,” he said. “So tell me, and let us laugh at it together.”

Fili sighed. “It is only--” he said, and then paused. “Only that I can't help feeling this is somehow my fault.”

“Your fault?” Bilbo cried. “But how could it possibly be your fault?”

“You must understand, Mr. Baggins, Kili and I -- we heard nothing but tales of the mountain when were growing up, and tales of the battles my uncle had seen, and Balin and Dwalin, too. And when we used to play, we always played at taking the mountain back, and then later, when we started training with real weapons, that was all it ever was, too.” Fili shook his head. “I do not mean we never used them for anything else, but it was all just practising, you see. Practising for when we would be called to fight for our home.”

Bilbo nodded, though he did not yet understand. “Go on,” he said.

“But then we lost Kili,” Fili said. “And I still thought about it, of course I did, but without him -- it wasn't the same. If we weren't to fight shoulder to shoulder, then--” He shrugged. “After that, I practised for something else. Something that was mine alone.”

Bilbo had an idea of what that something might have been, but he did not interrupt Fili to ask, simply nodding instead to show that he was listening.

“And then Kili came back,” Fili said, and he smiled as if he couldn't help himself. “And -- it is stupid, I know, because he does not remember how to fight, and even if he did, he is too-- But I think some part of me thought that we would be able to do all the things that we used to talk of, that we would play our part in retaking Erebor just like we imagined. But then the dragon just flew off, and the lake men killed it, and I felt--” He looked suddenly ashamed. “I felt disappointed,” he said in a small voice.

“Fili,” Bilbo said, but Fili had not finished.

“And now I have everything I've ever wished for,” he said with a sigh, gesturing at the distant armies. “We may have to fight for Erebor after all. And I just can't help feeling -- well. What do you think?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I think that the dwarves of Durin's line would declare themselves to blame if they were blowing on their soup and a storm blew up a week later,” he said, although with some sympathy. 

Fili gave him an embarrassed smile. “I did tell you it was ridiculous,” he said.

“And you were certainly right!” Bilbo replied. “But we may escape this without bloodshed yet, my lad. Let us hope you never have to use those skills of yours, or at least not until your brother is well enough to fight by your side again.”

Fili's smile faded at that. “Do you think he ever will be?” he asked.

“I don't see why not!” Bilbo said. “He is strong enough, so it seems, and he is certainly no more addled than most of our companions. But you are right, certainly at the moment he is far too fragile, even if he did remember how to fight.”

“I was not going to say fragile,” Fili said, and glanced at Bilbo, then back out towards the armies. “I was going to say precious.”

\----

Bilbo gave Thorin as much time as he could, but then his unease grew strong enough that he could bear it no longer, and he found himself hastening down to the great chamber, hoping that Thorin had not seen fit to take Kili on a tour of the mountain. Torches had been set to burn in the old sconces, so that now there was a great deal more light in the chamber than there had been, and the gold shone brightly in the flickering light, coloured fire leaping from the hearts of the gems. But Bilbo had no eyes for it any more -- in fact, he was rather sick of the sight of it -- and he hurried through the chamber, listening for Thorin's voice, though he could hear nothing. But eventually he found Kili, alone, digging through a pile of gold with a blank look on his face.

“There you are!” Bilbo said. “I was ready to give you up for lost! But what are you doing?”

Kili glanced up at him. “Look stone,” he said flatly.

Bilbo felt a shiver of fear run through him. Thorin had had Kili all this time -- had he somehow managed to communicate his strange obsession with the Arkenstone to his nephew? Bilbo had his suspicions by now about the madness that had claimed Thorin's father, and if it was inborn, as seemed entirely possible, there was no reason it could not attack Kili as well.

“Why are you looking for the stone?” he asked carefully.

“Thorin do say,” muttered Kili. “Say me look stone. Need find.”

“But -- you don't want to find the stone yourself?” Bilbo asked.

Kili shrugged, and Bilbo felt relief flood through him. 

“Well,” he said, “there is no use looking, for you won't find it here!”

Kili looked up at him, then, eyes narrowing. “Hobbit know where is stone?” he said.

“Certainly not,” Bilbo said, and forced himself not to put his hand in his pocket. “I only mean that it is not for you to find. Whatever Thorin might say.” 

Kili looked troubled, and Bilbo held out a hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let's get away from all this gold and talk about something else for a while.” Now that it had once suggested itself to him, the idea of Kili inheriting the madness would not leave him alone, and Bilbo did not want the little dwarf near the treasure any longer than was necessary.

Kili glanced doubtfully at the gold. “Thorin do say find stone,” he said.

“And I say not,” Bilbo said firmly, and was gratified when the little dwarf, after one last glance at the gold, climbed to his feet and let Bilbo take his arm. He was grateful, though, that Thorin was not there to see it, for it certainly would not have pleased the dwarf king.

“Come on, then,” Bilbo said. “Let's go somewhere more pleasant.”

\----

 _More pleasant_ was rather difficult, given that Bilbo could not take Kili out on the balcony to look at the sky, nor out of the secret door, and most of the rest of Erebor was dark and cold and fouled with the various substances that dragons apparently secreted. So it was that they eventually found themselves at the forge, where Bilbo thought that at least Thorin was unlikely to come looking for them, and where there was the pleasant memory of the rhyme that Kili had remembered. Bilbo set the torch he was carrying in a sconce on the wall and settled Kili with his back to the wall, then sat down facing him. The little dwarf still looked rather unhappy, Bilbo noted, and he felt a stir of annoyance at Thorin.

“What did he say to you?” Bilbo asked. “Thorin, I mean. What did he say?”

“He do say find stone,” Kili said, and then looked annoyed. “It is wrong,” he said. “How I say right?”

“He _said_ ,” said Bilbo, and then suddenly hit upon an excellent subject to keep them both occupied and drive any thoughts of whatever Thorin had said out of Kili's head. “Would you like to learn about how to talk about the past?” he asked.

“I not know, what is _past_?” Kili said.

“Past is before,” Bilbo said. “Would you like to learn how to talk about things that happened before?”

Kili sat up straight, then, staring at Bilbo intently. “Yes,” he said. “I want learn. Hobbit teach.”

Bilbo laughed. “Well, then,” he said. “To make things past, you just have to add a _d_.”

Kili looked sceptical. “Past is _d_?” he said. “Is not _do_?”

“No,” said Bilbo, “it is _d_. So, come on, let's start with _say_. _I say now_ , _I said before_.”

“I say now,” Kili repeated, “I sayed before.” He nodded. “It is _d_ ,” he said. “Understand.”

“Well, it is _said_ ,” Bilbo said, and Kili frowned at him.

“ _Sayed_ ,” he said. “Yes, I know.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to argue, but then reconsidered his decision to begin with a verb that did not actually follow the proper pattern. “Very good,” he said instead. “Now, another. What about _happen_?”

Kili thought about it for a moment. “He happen now,” he said, “he happened before.” He paused, apparently considering what he had said, then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It is right?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, “except that it should be _it happened_.”

Kili grimaced. “It, yes,” he said. “It happen now, it happened before.”

“And really it should be _happens_ ,” Bilbo said, getting rather carried away. “Because he, she and it have an _s_ after the verb in the present tense, you see--” He stopped when he realised that Kili was staring at him with something akin to horror on his face. “Well, another time,” he said quickly. “Let's get back to the subject at hand, shall we?” He thought for a moment. “You learn today,” he started, and then raised his eyebrows at Kili.

“I learn today,” Kili repeated. “I-- I learned before?”

“Yes!” Bilbo said, beaming. “You are certainly the best pupil I have ever had!”

Kili nodded, catching the intent if not the meaning, and then screwed his face up a moment. “I speak now,” he said, “I speaked before. It is right?”

“Ah,” Bilbo said. “Well, no, not exactly.” Kili's face fell a little, and Bilbo quickly reached out and patted his arm. “But it is not your fault!” he said. “It is only that some words don't do the same thing, and I suppose you have to learn them all by themselves.” Kili looked even more upset, and Bilbo shook his head. “But there are not many!” he said. “Not many at all, do not worry.”

“Not is _speaked_?” Kili asked. “What is?”

“ _Spoke_ ,” said Bilbo. “I speak now, I spoke before.”

“ _Spoke_ ,” Kili muttered. “Spoke is not same word, not _d_. Why not _speaked_?”

“There is no why,” Bilbo said. “That is just how it works.”

Kili looked frustrated, but then he took a breath and settled his hands on his knees. “I spoke before,” he said. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Bilbo said. “Now, what else?”

“You teach,” Kili said. “You teach now, you teached before.”

Bilbo must have made some kind of face, for Kili suddenly frowned. “It is not right,” he said. “Not is _d_?”

“I'm afraid not,” Bilbo said. “It is _taught_. I taught before.”

“ _Tote_ ,” said Kili, and Bilbo shook his head.

“ _Taught_ ,” he said. “I'm sorry, I'm afraid it doesn't really make sense.”

“Many word not _d_ ,” Kili said, sounding quite unhappy now. “What is give? Ori give now, Ori--” he stopped without even finishing this time, staring at Bilbo, who was now feeling quite upset with himself, and no doubt showing it on his face. “Is not _gived_ ,” he said. “Hobbit say before is _d_ , but not _d_.”

“It is,” Bilbo said. “There are just some words that are strange.”

“What words not strange?” Kili asked. “Understand?” He made a growl of frustration when Bilbo shook his head. “Know?” he said. “Hear?”

“Oh, but it is all the common words,” Bilbo said. “That's why they're the ones you know. But there are lots of others, like--” And of course, he was unable to think of a single one.

Kili stared at him as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “Why?” he said. “Why speak, spoke? Teach, taught? All words different! Why not words all same?”

“Kili--” Bilbo said, starting to feel a little alarmed at how upset the little dwarf seemed, but Kili shook his head.

“Not can speak,” he said. “How speak, all words different? Not can! Sound stupid, dwarfs think stupid. Think child.”

“What?” Bilbo said. “The dwarves do not think you're stupid!”

Kili shook his head angrily. “I not think right,” he said. “I know, I _know_. Head is not right, but not stupid, not child.”

“Kili,” Bilbo said, leaning forward now and putting his hands on Kili's shoulders, “has someone said something to you?”

Kili seemed to suddenly realise that he had been shouting at Bilbo, and he dropped his eyes abruptly to the floor. Bilbo put a gentle hand on his chin and lifted his face.

“None of that,” he said. “It is all right to be angry sometimes, master dwarf. But tell me, who has been calling you a child?”

Kili didn't answer, but Bilbo did not really need him to, for he knew exactly who Kili had been speaking to recently. 

“Thorin,” he said. “Tell me what Thorin said to you.”

Kili's eyes stayed downcast, but after a moment he spoke, though he did not look at Bilbo. “He give -- gived -- what it is?”

“Gave,” said Bilbo, and Kili's mouth twisted, but he did not protest.

“He gave me -- thing,” he said, and now looked exasperated. “Gold thing, go on head. Go-on-head thing, not know word, what is?”

“A crown,” Bilbo said. “He gave you a crown.”

“Crown,” said Kili. “He gave me crown. I say -- sayed -- I sayed thank you. Sayed thank you!” He looked up at Bilbo now, as if trying to convince him. “But he not -- not think, thinked -- He not thinked good thank you. He sayed --” He screwed up his face again, clearly determined to speak as well as possible. “He sayed I say more thank you Ori picture.”

“Well,” said Bilbo, “Ori worked very hard on those pictures.”

“Yes!” said Kili. “Crown is good, but crown is many, Thorin take -- taked crown on ground, gave me crown. Ori draw! Draw long time, draw me, draw Fili and Kili and hobbit.”

“What did he say then?” Bilbo asked, stroking Kili's arm soothingly.

Kili thought hard. “He sayed orcs make head wrong,” he said. “Sayed I child, not can understand gold. He sayed, sayed I not, not.” He shook his head. “Not understand be dwarf.”

“Oh, Kili, lad,” Bilbo said, forcing down his anger at Thorin so that none of it would bleed into his tone. “You are not the one whose head is wrong.”

Kili looked downcast. “Head is wrong,” he said. “I know is wrong.”

“Now, listen,” Bilbo said. “Thorin is not well. Do you understand? He said those things because _his_ head is wrong. And nobody thinks you're a child, not me, and not Fili, and not any of the other dwarves. You are learning so much, and so fast. Kili, do you hear me?”

Kili was staring at the floor, but now he looked at Bilbo, and there was no anger left in his face, only trouble. “Thorin not is wrong,” he said. “I not understand be dwarf.”

“Well, maybe not completely,” said Bilbo, “but you understand a little more every day. And if you never understand why gold is so important, I shall be quite happy.”

Kili frowned. “Hobbit not like gold?”

“Hobbits do not care much about gold one way or the other,” Bilbo said. “It is nice to have it, but we do not love it as dwarves do.”

Kili thought about this for a moment. “But I not hobbit,” he said. “I dwarf.” And his fingers came up reflexively to touch his ears, as if he was trying to convince himself.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, and squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, my lad. You are a dwarf.”

\----

Bilbo did not go to find Thorin after his conversation with Kili, for he did not trust himself not to start an argument, and he was not sure how such an argument might end, not with the strange behaviour Thorin had been exhibiting lately. He was sure now, though, that he had done the right thing in withholding the Arkenstone, though he had no doubt if he was found to have it there would be dire consequences. The possession of unthinkable quantities of gold seemed only to have fuelled Thorin's illness, not ameliorated it, and so Bilbo could only think that possession of the Arkenstone itself might drive him over the edge.

He found himself out on the balcony, watching the evening fall over the encampment. Bombur was on watch, smoking his pipe contentedly, and Bilbo sat beside him in companionable silence for a while and tried not to think about how long it would be before the pipeweed ran out. And after that, the food. And whether they would even last that long before Thorin did something ridiculous like send them all out with sticks to beat the elves for daring to exist in the first place.

“Winter's drawing in,” he said to Bombur. “The nights are getting rather chilly.”

“They are, at that,” Bombur said. “I wish I was inside, with the fire. I always draw night watch.”

“You can go in, if you want,” Bilbo said. “I am going to sit out here anyway, so I might as well watch while I am about it.”

Bombur shrugged. “If you're sure,” he said, and Bilbo agreed that he was. And when Bombur had gone, he sat and stared at the encampment, the bright, flickering lights of the campfires, and fingered the gem in his pocket. A plan had been forming in his mind since his conversation with Kili, but it seemed a desperate one, and he was still hesitating over it when Bofur stepped out onto the balcony.

“Bombur told me I'd find you up here,” he said. “Brought you some _cram_.”

Bilbo smiled at Bofur, hastily withdrawing his hand from his pocket.

“Oh, how lovely,” he said. “I do enjoy _cram_.”

Bofur laughed and sat down next to him. “It's not roast suckling pig, that's for sure,” he said. “But it's what we'll get, at least until Dain drives this lot away.”

“Dain?” Bilbo asked. “Who is that?”

“Thorin's cousin from the Iron Hills,” Bofur said. “We had ravens this afternoon, apparently he's on his way down with five hundred dwarves. Should be quite a show, and we've the best seats in the house!”

He grinned, and Bilbo felt rather ill.

“Then there'll be a battle?” he said.

“Aye, I hope so,” Bofur said. “Otherwise we'll be stuck in here till the remaking of the world. And I think Bombur will have eaten all the _cram_ by then, so we'll have to eat gold, or starve.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows a little at the tone of the last part, but he did not say anything. The news of another army marching their way had made his mind up, and he would do nothing to throw suspicion on himself now.

“Well, thank you for the _cram_ ,” he said.

“You're welcome,” Bofur replied, and got up to leave. “Don't get bored and fall asleep. You might topple off.”

“I don't think there's any danger of that,” Bilbo said with a smile. He watched Bofur leave, and waited long enough that he must have been most of the way back to the great chamber before drawing a coil of rope from under his coat and fastening one end to the balcony. The ground seemed a dizzyingly long way away, and Bilbo slipped his hand in his pocket and clasped the Arkenstone, thinking of five hundred dwarves marching towards then and remembering the strange light in Thorin's eyes and how upset Kili had been that afternoon.

“Oh, I hope I am doing the right thing,” he muttered.

And then he slipped on his ring and climbed over the parapet.


	30. Chapter 30

Bilbo stumbled several times on his way from the foot of the wall to the encampment of men and elves, for it was a cloudy night with no moonlight to see by, and he could carry no torch. By the time he reached the outermost campfires, he was beginning to feel quite irritable (though in truth he had not been in the best of moods since his encounter with Thorin that morning), and his temper was not improved by the sight of the woodland elves sitting around their fires laughing in their own language, for it reminded him far too much of the ill-treatment these same elves had dealt to his friends. He slipped past these first groups of elves, hoping to find his way to the part of the encampment were the men were staying. After a few minutes, though, he found himself stopping short, for there was a small fire and only one elf sitting warming her hands before it.

Tauriel.

Bilbo stood a moment in indecision. Certainly she had helped them -- he doubted not that had it not been for her, they would still be rotting in Mirkwood now, and Kili quite possibly gone to meet his forefathers. But how would she react if he revealed himself to her now, given the further increase of tensions between the elves and the dwarves since then? 

His decision was made for him, though, for a moment later another elf joined her, this one with pale hair -- the same elf Tauriel had been talking to in the tunnel the last time he had seen her, Bilbo thought, although it was not always easy for him to tell elves apart from each other. This newcomer spoke to Tauriel in a low voice, and she replied with a laugh, and then straightened suddenly, looking directly at Bilbo.

Bilbo took a step back, his heart beating painfully in his chest and his fingers quickly checking that he was still wearing the ring. But then a voice spoke from behind him, and he realised it was not him Tauriel was seeing at all, and turned on his heel to see who it was. 

It was lucky he did so, for had he not, he would surely have been stepped on by the elf king -- for it was none other than he. Bilbo jumped aside, and the king swept past, impossibly tall, his hair bright in the firelight. He spoke to the two elves, who had jumped to their feet, and Bilbo felt a shudder run through him, and a ripple of anger as well, for the last time he had seen this elf he had been condemning Kili to death.

But Bilbo had a task to complete, and even if he was invisible, he did not feel at all safe surrounded by the wood-elves, and so he hurried away, threading his way through the campfires until the laughing elf-tongue gave way to the thicker, sturdier voices of men, speaking words that Bilbo mostly understood. He listened well, and discovered that the men spoke of gold nearly as often as the dwarves in the mountain, only stopping occasionally to recount stories of how they had seen the great dwarf king when he had been in Esgaroth and did you know he had a goblin with him, foul creature, all teeth and claws and murdered young Ulf, so they say. But eventually he discovered where the tents of the leaders were located, and he scuttled in that direction, slipping into the first tent he found, and then the second, until he found himself confronted with a lean back clothed in rough homespun and carrying a great bow of yew.

Bilbo thrust his hand in his pocket and gripped the Arkenstone. If he was to turn back, it would have to be now; there would be no more chances.

But he could not turn back. Back only meant going back to the mountain and watching as the unsettling light in Thorin's eyes grew brighter and the food grew shorter. Back only meant giving up everything they had all fought so hard for because of one addle-brained dwarf. No, there was no going back.

And so he took off his ring and cleared his throat, and the man before him turned sharply and had a sword levelled at Bilbo's chest before he had even had the chance to speak.

“Mr. Bard!” Bilbo squeaked.

“Mr. Baggins,” said Bard, for of course it was he. “How come you here?” He seemed rather astounded, as far as his dour face could be made to show such emotions.

“I walked,” Bilbo said. “Well, and climbed. There was definitely some climbing involved, it was quite unpleasant. Now, if you wouldn't mind lowering your sword, I have a proposition to put to you.”

Bard raised his eyebrows. “You would have me lower my sword when I have found a spy in my tent?” he asked. “I think you know very little of the ways of war, Mr. Baggins.”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Bilbo said. “I am not a spy -- or at least, not for the dwarves. I simply want to end all this nasty business with as little trouble as possible. I've come to make you an offer.”

Bard did lower his sword, then, although he did not return it to its sheath. “You are nothing but surprises,” he said. “I would not have guessed that the great King Under the Mountain would send a creature such as you to do his parleying.”

“And you would have been right not to,” Bilbo said. “Thorin doesn't know I'm here.” At Bard's look of surprise, he sighed. “He is not well,” he said. “I fear he would see us all starve before giving up a single gold piece. And I don't mind telling you that no hobbit likes to go hungry, Mr. Bard.”

“And so you disobey your king?” Bard asked.

“He is not my king,” Bilbo snapped. Bard raised an eyebrow, and Bilbo sighed. “He is my friend. Or at least -- well, he was. But I didn't come here to talk about him. I came here to show you this.”

And he drew the Arkenstone from his pocket -- though hesitantly, for although hobbits did not suffer from the sort of sickness that had claimed Thorin, nonetheless it was an extraordinary object, and even Bilbo felt something of a pang at the idea of relinquishing it. 

Bard's eyes grew round as he beheld the gem. “That can only be the Arkenstone,” he breathed. “My grandfather told me tales of it when I was a boy at his knee, but I see now that all his fine words fell short of describing it.” And he stretched out his hand as if to take it, but then closed his fingers and drew it back. “Why do you show me this?” he asked.

“This stone is worth more to Thorin than all the gold in the mountain,” Bilbo said. “If you were to have possession of it, I think you could trade with him for what you are owed, and everybody could go home without any further unpleasantness.”

“You mean to give it to me?” Bard asked, rather incredulously.

“Well -- why, yes, of course I do,” Bilbo said. “Why else would I bring it out here?”

Bard made another gesture towards the stone, but stopped once again. “But it cannot be yours to give,” he said. “If I take a stolen jewel, I am not better than the King Under the Mountain, hoarding treasure that does not belong to him.”

“It is mine,” Bilbo said. “I was promised a thirteenth share of the treasure of Erebor, and this is my choice.” The idea of going home entirely empty-handed was a rather galling one, it was true, but on the other hand, it was enough for Bilbo to go home at all, and not to have to sit and starve to death on a pile of useless gold.

Bard hesitated, but then nodded and took the stone, and Bilbo let it go with only brief reluctance. “You shall be accounted a friend of Lake-Town until the end of your days, Mr. Baggins,” Bard said. “We will find you a bed tonight, and when the town is rebuilt, you shall be welcome whenever and however long you choose to stay. And I doubt not the elves will consider you the greatest of elf-friends.”

“Well, I don't really care what the elves think,” Bilbo muttered, but then he shook his head. “But I do not mean to stay. I must go back to the mountain, and soon, before they realise I am gone.”

Bard looked amazed then. “Surely you do not mean to go back?” he said. “You have stolen their greatest treasure! If they do not meet you with the blade of an axe, I will account it a great stroke of fortune.”

Bilbo shivered. But no -- Thorin would be furious, that was certainly true, but he could not believe he would resort to murder, not even as changed as he was. “No, Mr. Bard,” he said. “I cannot leave my friends, not now.” Bard seemed as if he would protest again, and Bilbo sighed. “I have made my choices,” he said, “and although they have not turned out as I would have wished, I cannot unmake them now. I must go back.”

“So be it,” said Bard then, his face solemn. “But you are ever welcome under my roof, Mr. Baggins, when once I have a roof again.”

Bilbo smiled. “I hope your family was not injured when the dragon attacked,” he said.

Bard shook his head. “Sigrid weeps bitterly for our home,” he said, “and Tilda weeps bitterly because she believes you are dead. But they are unharmed, and for that there can only be rejoicing.”

“I am glad,” Bilbo said. “You will pass on my regards, I hope?”

Bard smiled at him then, a grim smile, perhaps, but a smile nonetheless. “I hope you will pass them on yourself, Mr. Baggins, when all this is over.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo. “When it is over.”

And he slipped on his ring, and stepped out of the tent and back towards the mountain.

\----

At midnight, Bilbo woke Bofur to take the next watch, but he did not fall asleep right away, but sat for a long time thinking of what might happen next. And he thought about what had already happened, everything from when Gandalf had first appeared at his home in the Shire to his little trip to give Bard the Arkenstone. Trolls and goblins and orcs, elves and men, and endless dungeons and caves and terror. And in amongst it all, something that he had not expected from all his reading of tales of adventure: comradeship, and warmth, and joy in small things. He remembered the dwarves telling tales and singing in Lake-Town, and how Fili and Ori had seemed like children and Kili's eyes had shone with wonder. He remembered the pictures Ori had drawn and how much joy they had brought to everyone, and he remembered Fili laughing hysterically as he clung to his brother the night before they entered Mirkwood. He even remembered the quiet night under the stars when they had been lost in the wildlands and Bilbo had first taught Kili the word _dwarf_. How many miles they had come since then! And now the quest was meant to be over, and they were all supposed to be safe, but Bilbo knew that once morning came, it would never be the same.

And he thought as well about what Kili had said to him that afternoon, about how unhappy he had been to be considered a child, and he realised that there was something else that he had to do. So he crept quietly to where Kili was sleeping propped up against a pillar, and shook him gently by the shoulder, taking care not to wake his brother, who was sprawled at his feet as always. Kili awoke with the slightest of touches, and he made no sound, but merely blinked up at Bilbo. Bilbo laid a finger on his lips and tugged the little dwarf's arm, and Kili rose quietly to his feet and followed him.

\----

They went to the forge, and sat as they had before, Kili with his back to the wall and Bilbo facing him. Bilbo thought hard about how to say what he had to say, and Kili waited patiently and did not speak. Finally, Bilbo was ready to begin.

“The people who are outside,” he said. “The people Thorin was shouting at before. They are the men who we saw when we were on the lake. Do you remember the men?”

Kili nodded. “I remember men,” he said. “Men outside mountain?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “The men are outside the mountain.”

Kili looked a little troubled by this, but Bilbo knew that there was worse to come. “And -- the elves are there, too,” he said. “The elves from the forest. Do you remember the elves?”

Kili's face darkened at that. “Yes,” he said. “Remember elves.” He frowned at Bilbo. “Elves outside mountain? Come kill?”

“No,” Bilbo said, patting his knee, “no, they have not come to kill you. But I would not go out there if I were you. You should stay inside the mountain where it is safe.”

Kili thought about this. “Why come?” he said. “Why elves, men outside mountain?”

“Well,” Bilbo said, “the men slew the dragon. They -- they killed the, the, what was it? _Kuldar_?” 

“ _Kulkodar_ is dead?” Kili said, and Bilbo felt a sudden pang of guilt, for he had not realised that no-one had thought to tell Kili. 

“Yes,” he said, “it is dead. And the men killed it, and their homes were burned. The house we stayed at was burned, and all the town. Do you understand?”

Kili nodded. “Kill _kulkodar_ , burn place men live,” he said. “Men not have place live.”

“That's right,” said Bilbo. “And so they ask for some of the gold. That is why they are outside the mountain.”

“Why want gold?” Kili asked. “Not can make -- what is word, place men live?” 

“Town,” Bilbo said, and Kili nodded.

“Not can make town gold,” he said. “Out gold. Not can make town out gold.”

“Well,” Bilbo said, deciding that now was not really the right time to try and explain money to Kili, “it will help them, and that is why they want it. But Thorin will not give it to them.”

“Why not give?” Kili asked, and then shook his head. “Know why. Dwarfs want gold, gold more good more picture, more all thing.”

“Not all dwarves,” Bilbo said. “But your Uncle Thorin is not well. His head is wrong, and he will not give them the gold.”

Kili stared at him, seeming to consider this. “Understand,” he said finally, sounding resigned. “Men, elves want gold, Thorin not give. Men kill Thorin, kill dwarfs, take gold.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, “no, I do not think they will kill us. But they will not let us out until we give them what they ask for.”

Kili seemed to think about this. “I not understand why not kill,” he said. “Men want gold, dwarfs not give. Why not kill?” 

Bilbo sighed. Sometimes he allowed himself to forget that Kili was not simply a rather nervous dwarf who did not speak Common well. But he was not able to forget it for long. Never for long.

“That is a conversation for another time,” he said. “But there is something else I must tell you, Kili.” And now he took a deep breath. “I have done something. Something that will make Thorin very angry.”

“Thorin never not angry,” Kili said, and even with all that was happening, Bilbo could not help but smile.

“You are right, of course,” he said. “But I think he will be even more angry than usual. And I am not sure what he will do.”

Kili did not speak for a long moment, staring intently at Bilbo as if he was trying to divine his meaning merely by sight. “Thorin punish hobbit?” he said finally.

“No,” Bilbo said, for although he was absolutely certain that there would be some punishment, he doubted very much it would be of the form that Kili no doubt intended when he used the word _punish_. “But it may be that I have to go away, and you may not see me for a time.”

“Hobbit not go,” said Kili immediately, reaching out to twist his fingers in Bilbo's sleeve. “Hobbit say not go.”

“I do not want to go, my lad,” said Bilbo, feeling his throat tighten. “But I cannot always do what I want to do. Do you understand me?”

There was another pause. Then Kili nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Understand not can do what want. Very understand.”

“I suppose you do,” Bilbo said. “But Kili, I want you to remember that I did what I did to help you and the dwarves. I only ever wanted to help. It may be that they will tell you I was trying to hurt you, but I was not, I swear it. Will you promise to remember that?”

Kili stared at him. “Hobbit not hurt,” he said. “Never hurt, never punish. Hobbit friend, more good friend.”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, and now he found himself weeping a little, though he tried hard to force the tears back, for he did not want to scare Kili any more than necessary. “Yes, I am your more good friend. I will always be your friend, my dear lad.”

“Not cry, hobbit,” Kili said with a worried frown, and reached out tentatively, patting him on the arm. “Do not cry.”

Bilbo laughed, then, though it was a little watery. “Well!” he said. “You have used _do_ correctly! If I had known all it would take was a few tears, I would have wept a river long ago!”

Kili did not seem to understand this, but his frown lessened a little, although he still stroked Bilbo's arm lightly. His face was full of trouble, and Bilbo wondered if he had said too much. But no: he had railed at Thorin for calling Kili a child only that afternoon, and yet he had been no better in seeking to keep the truth from him, though perhaps his intentions had been a little more admirable. And if things were to go badly with Thorin the next day -- and Bilbo, if he was honest with himself, could see no way they could go well, at least not for him -- he could not bear the thought of Kili never knowing why he had done what he had done.

“Why hobbit not say me before?” Kili asked then. “Why not say me elves outside mountain?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I should have done,” he said. “I am sorry. It is only that I did not want to scare you. I hope you are not scared, Kili, for you have no reason to be.”

Kili sat back, then, letting go of Bilbo's sleeve. “Yes, scared,” he said, and then looked away. “Never not scared.”

And Bilbo could not think of any reply to that, and so he said nothing at all.

\----

The morning dawned grey and wintry, and Bilbo felt a chill in his bones that was not just from the weather. He was on edge, awake before dawn and shivering a little as he paced the throne room, unable to keep still. It was almost with relief that he heard the trumpets of approaching envoys, and followed along as all the dwarves rushed onto the balcony, with the exception of Dwalin, who was guarding the secret door, and Kili, who had been placed by his usual pillar by his brother. Bilbo glanced back at him before he stepped out into the daylight, and saw that Kili was watching him, face troubled.

Bard stood before the wall with three other men -- but no elves, Bilbo was relieved to see -- and gazed proudly up at Thorin. “Hail, Thorin King!” he said. “I come to make the same request I made yesterday.”

Thorin's eyes glittered as he stared down at him. “And I make the same answer, Bard of Lake-Town,” he said.

“And is there nothing you desire enough that you would give us what we ask in exchange?” Bard asked.

Thorin barked a laugh. “Nothing that you have to offer,” he said.

“I see,” Bard said, and then he raised his hand and opened it. The Arkenstone lay on his palm, more brilliant now in daylight than it had been even in the torchlight, seeming to send shards and splinters of light in every direction. “And what of this?”

The dwarves seemed to gasp as one, and Thorin's eyes grew wide and his face pale with rage. “What is this?” he asked. “Thief! How dare you steal my birthright!”

“I am no thief,” Bard said coolly. “I merely wish to trade the treasure of your grandfather for the treasure of mine. What say you, Thorin King?”

“I say that you have no right to make such a request!” Thorin cried, and he seized a bow of horn that hung from his shoulder and swiftly aimed an arrow at Bard. “I say that you are a common thief, and should be punished as such!”

“Wait!” Bilbo cried, waving his arms desperately. “Stop! He did not steal the stone.”

All eyes turned to him, then, and most were confused or surprised, but Thorin's were glittering and half-mad.

“Then how came he by it?” Thorin asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“I gave it to him,” Bilbo said. He tried to sound firm and decisive, but really he just squeaked like a scared little hobbit, which is no wonder, since that was what he was.

Thorin's face grew grim indeed, then, and he dropped his bow and strode forward, lifting Bilbo by his lapels until he was dangling quite off the ground. “Do not lie to me, halfling,” he said, and up close his face was frightening indeed, the skin drawn tight around his piercing eyes, his cheeks hollow and shadowed. “This is no matter for mockery.”

“I'm not -- I'm not!” Bilbo gasped. “I took it, I found it and took it and I gave it to Bard!”

Thorin gave a roar at that, and raised Bilbo higher as if he wished to throw him from the balcony all together. But another voice called from below, and all turned to look, astonished to see that one of the men with Bard had removed his hood, and stood before them now revealed as Gandalf himself.

“Think before you act, Thorin son of Thrain!” he cried. “You wanted a burglar, and a burglar you have got. But do not damage him, for he is my burglar, really, and I am quite fond of him.”

“Thorin,” Balin said quickly into the silence that followed this declaration, “do not shed the first blood, or we will have no choice but to fight now, and Dain is still a day away.”

For a moment, Bilbo thought that Thorin would ignore them both and dash Bilbo to the rocks, for the rage that twisted his face was quite unearthly, but then he set Bilbo down, roughly enough that the little hobbit staggered, and took a step back, scowling down at him. Bilbo dared not breathe for a moment, but movement caught the corner of his eye, and he glanced sideways to see Fili, white-faced and tense, speaking in quick _iglishmêk_ to Balin behind Thorin's back. It was too fast for Bilbo to catch much -- and anyway, he had not learned a great many words before their hasty exit from Lake-Town -- but he saw the word _kill_ and the question marker, and he could not help but widen his eyes in fear.

And that, in the end, was his undoing, for Thorin was watching him closely, and he saw the look on his face and glanced behind him to see the two dwarves still silently conversing. And he might have been half out of his mind, but he was not stupid, and when he turned back to Bilbo his eyes were narrow.

“You understand,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You understand what they say to each other.”

Behind Thorin, Bilbo saw Fili freeze and give him a look of absolute horror.

“No!” Bilbo cried. “No, of course I don't!”

But Thorin was already turning to the dwarves, incandescent with fury now. “Who has taught this creature our sacred tongue?” he roared. “Who would dare to do such a thing?” 

The dwarves all stared back, shocked and grim. None answered, and Thorin turned back to Bilbo and grabbed him again, shaking him violently.

“You will tell me who taught you this,” he said. “You will tell me how many traitors I have sheltered in my mountain!”

Bilbo felt his teeth clacking together, and he thought for a moment Thorin would shake the brains right out of his head, but then there was the sound of a scuffle off to his left, and Bilbo was abruptly jerked out of Thorin's grasp by the back of his collar and set gently on his feet, and he found himself dizzily looking up to see Kili standing between him and Thorin, mouth tight and shoulders rigid.

“I'm teach,” said Kili. “I'm teach hobbit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear! Again!


	31. Chapter 31

The silence that followed Kili's announcement was like something solid in Bilbo's ears, pressing in against him with shock and tension. The dwarves wore expressions that ranged from stunned to horrified, and Bilbo felt much the same way, though for rather different reasons. He opened his mouth to disclaim, to try and find some way to improve the situation, though for the life of him he could not imagine what that would be, but no words would come. 

Thorin stood stone-faced, staring at Kili, and the silence stretched on. But then the dwarf-king bowed his head. “I have been a fool,” he said, and the anger seemed to have bled from his voice, leaving only a quiet despair. “I have been such a fool, for so long.”

Bilbo felt a spark of hope, then, that perhaps Kili's declaration had somehow broken the hold the gold-sickness seemed to have on Thorin's mind. But when the dwarf king raised his head, the shine of madness in his eyes was stronger than ever, and Bilbo felt his poor battered heart quail within him for fear of what would come next.

“I have allowed my desires to overcome my judgement,” Thorin said. “I have allowed myself to be seduced by deceitful words, only because I longed so much for them to be true. And now we will all pay the price.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo started, his voice sounding rather strangled, but Thorin's glittering eyes snapped to him, and the fury there made Bilbo fall back a step.

“Do not speak, halfling!” he growled. “I would not hear one word from the tongue that has dripped poison into my nephew's ears these many days. Better if it had been cut from your head before ever we met!”

Bilbo felt himself gape in shock, but Thorin now turned his attention back to Kili, who was still standing as a shield before Bilbo, but seemed not quite able to look Thorin in the face. 

“It was I,” Thorin said, and he gave a deep groan. “It was I who allowed that creature to sit by your side, nay, encouraged it even. I am the one who set him to complete the task the orcs began.” He shook his head, as if lost in sorrow, and behind him, Fili half-raised a hand, his face bloodless and somehow stretched-looking.

“Uncle,” he whispered, but seemed to be able to manage no more than that.

“Fili,” Thorin said, his voice raw with grief. “I am so sorry that I allowed this madness to continue for so long. That I allowed you to believe your brother could be saved. It was only that I wanted it more than anything in this world, and I was weak enough to take this for truth rather than dreams.”

Fili's face grew more drawn, if anything, and his eyes moved from Thorin to Kili, but he did not speak, though his mouth moved as if he was trying to form words. 

“Balin,” said Thorin then, and if it were not for the way his eyes glittered, Bilbo would think he sounded perfectly sane, “do the cells still function?” 

“Yes,” Balin said, sounding rather strained, “though they are no pleasant place, and that is the truth of it.”

“Then they suit my purpose well,” Thorin said, glowering now at Bilbo. “This -- halfling deserves to be flung from the walls of my kingdom. But I cannot risk him passing more of our secrets to the elves. I do not know what else he may have used my nephew to discover. You will take him to the cells and keep him there until such time as I am prepared to decide his fate.”

A quiver of fear rippled through Bilbo's belly, not just from the words, but from the fact that none of the dwarves argued with them, although none of them looked very happy, either, and Ori seemed to start speaking and then stop with a grunt of pain that suggested someone had stepped abruptly on his foot. But what came next was far worse, and Bilbo forgot all about his own sentence as soon as he heard it.

“What of Kili?” Balin asked delicately.

Thorin's eyes went back to his nephew, and the anger in his face faded, leaving only deep sorrow. “Aye,” he said. “Kili, too.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from more than one dwarf, and Fili took a stumbling step forward, but for once, Bilbo was faster.

“Thorin,” he said, “you cannot--”

And that, apparently, was enough to snap whatever fragment of self-control was still holding Thorin together, for his face twisted in ugly rage, and he lunged forward at Bilbo. “I said _hold your tongue_ ,” he cried, and Bilbo stumbled backwards, but Thorin's grasping hands never reached him, for Kili suddenly launched himself at his uncle, clawing and kicking, and Thorin, taken off-guard by the attack, found himself half-knocked to the ground before he was able to fight back. Bilbo jumped forward, but found that hands were grabbing him, pulling his arms behind his back and binding them roughly, knocking him off balance so that he fell to his knees, and he looked up to see Balin, his expression a mixture of anger and worry. 

“Balin, please,” Bilbo whispered, but Balin was not looking at him, and Bilbo turned to see that Thorin had now gained the upper hand in his struggle with Kili -- and of course, there could never have been any doubt that he would, for he was twice the size of the little dwarf and a trained warrior of great skill -- and now had forced him to the ground, pushing him down onto his stomach. Kili thrashed beneath him, silent as always, and Thorin turned to Balin.

“Rope,” he said, his voice flat, and Balin held out a length of cord. Thorin threaded it through the loops on Kili's manacles and pulled it tight, and the little dwarf immediately fell still, his cheek pressed into the floor of the balcony. Thorin stared down at him, despair in every line of his face.

“Uncle,” Fili said then, and Thorin raised a hand.

“Do not argue, Fili,” he said, not looking away from Kili where he lay limp on the ground. “Surely this at least must have convinced you that your brother is beyond our help. We can do nothing now but keep him close and ensure that he is in no pain.”

“I was not going to argue,” Fili said, shaking his head. “Of course you are right, Mr.-- the, the halfling has betrayed us, and he has tried to corrupt Kili.” His eyes strayed briefly to Bilbo as he spoke, and Bilbo felt his throat go tight at the anger he saw in them, for he had hoped that Fili, at least, might be sympathetic. “But uncle, I do not believe that it was from malice that Kili did this thing. He is addled, he has not the wit to understand what he has done. I know he must be bound, but please, let me at least take him to the cells myself, so that I can reassure him, so that he is not overly frightened. Please, uncle, I ask only this.”

Thorin regarded Fili for a long moment, his eyes too bright in his pale face. “Aye, my nephew,” he said finally. “I can grant you this. But you must be sure to separate them, for I will not have that creature speak another word to your brother as long as he may live.”

“Of course,” Fili said quickly, stepping over to where Kili lay. Thorin rose to his feet and gave Fili a grim nod, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“I am sorry that I allowed this to happen,” he said again. “But I am proud of your strength, as ever.”

Fili gave a short nod, his jaw tightly clenched, and then reached down to pull Kili to his feet, laying a hand on his brother's arm and whispering something in his ear. Kili stood with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched, and Bilbo thought that he had not missed that attitude and wondered if it would ever be banished for good, now that Kili's own kin seemed content to treat him as the elves had done.

Then Balin was dragging Bilbo to his feet as well, and stepping forward to follow Fili. But Fili reached out a hand and grasped Bilbo's elbow.

“I can take him,” he said. “You should stay here and help my uncle with the negotiations.” He indicated the group of men that still waited on the ground, shading their eyes as they tried to see what was happening on the balcony. Balin, standing behind Bilbo, must have made some sign of assent, for his hands were suddenly gone from Bilbo's arms and Fili was pulling him forward instead, and the glance he cast at him was full of cold fury.

“Come, then, brother,” he said, pushing Kili before him with a gentle hand. Bilbo he dragged behind, and there was no gentleness at all in that. Bilbo cast one last glance back at Thorin, who stood with his face in shadow, watching them go. Behind him was the open sky, and somewhere down there were Gandalf, and Bard, and the only chance Bilbo might have had at going home one day.

And then they turned a corner, and the sky was gone.

\----

Fili marched them down tunnel after tunnel at a great pace, making no allowances for Bilbo's short legs, so that the little hobbit stumbled more than once and even fell at one sharp corner, causing Fili to drag him roughly to his feet. Kili seemed more able to cope, though he was silent and bowed and did not once look back at his brother or Bilbo. They were heading deep into the mountain, and with every step they descended, Bilbo felt his heart grow heavier.

“Fili,” he said as they descended a steep flight of steps, “please. You cannot do this. You know what imprisonment will do to K--”

“Hold your tongue,” Fili snapped, “unless you care to lose it.”

The words died in Bilbo's throat, and he wondered suddenly if the sickness had taken Fili, too. He had seen no signs -- no shining eyes, at any rate -- but the young dwarf's words were so similar to his uncle's earlier, and the very fact that he was willing to put his beloved brother in a cell, regardless of his crimes, was enough to ignite suspicion in Bilbo's mind. And if it was the sickness, what then? Bilbo had no allies here, not after what he had done, and although he was quite sure that the other dwarves were all horrified at the fate that Thorin had decreed for Kili, he was their king, and Bilbo was not at all sure that any of them would dare to go against him. He could not even reach his ring, and Fili's grip on his elbow was so tight that it would not do him much good even if he could.

And then they turned another corner, and came out into the great chamber, among the piles of gold. It was empty, for all the dwarves stood on the balcony, and Fili strode to where they had set up their little camp and let go of Kili, drawing one of his daggers. Bilbo tried to take a step back, but then Fili let go of him, too, and grabbed his brother's wrists, severing the cord that bound them. He turned swiftly to Bilbo and spun him round, dragging the knife across the rope that wrapped around Bilbo's wrists, and though the action was none too gentle, he did not break Bilbo's skin. 

“What--?” Bilbo started, but Fili shook his head sharply, and stooped, scooping up his pack from the ground and shoving his bedroll into it. He glared at Bilbo, and Bilbo, still unsure what was happening, quickly did the same, packing his own and Kili's packs with shaking hands. Fili shouldered his pack, slung a bow and a quiver of arrows over one shoulder and grabbed Kili's elbow again, pulling him towards the tunnel that led to the secret door. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Bilbo and jerked his head for him to follow, and Bilbo did, feeling a tiny shiver of hope in his heart.

Their progress up the tunnel was faster, if anything, than their march down to the great chamber had been. Fili seemed to be almost running, and Bilbo had to jog to keep up, though that was made a little easier by having his arms unbound and not being dragged along by his elbow. It wasn't until they were almost at the secret door itself that Fili suddenly slowed down, walking now with a purposeful stride that Bilbo recognised as an excellent imitation of Thorin.

They came around the corner, then, and Bilbo saw lamplight up ahead, and the great shadowy form of Dwalin rising to meet them. Fili called a greeting, and Dwalin grunted in response, looking them up and down as they drew near.

“Not the best time for an expedition, laddie,” he said to Fili.

Fili nodded. “My uncle has sent us to scout the north and bring a message to Dain,” he said. 

Dwalin raised a slow eyebrow, his eyes going from Fili to Bilbo and then to Kili, who stood silent and downcast.

“Sent the three of you, is it?” he asked.

Fili did not falter. “That's right,” he said. “Mr. Baggins has his ring, after all. He is the perfect choice for a scouting trip.”

“And your brother?” Dwalin asked.

“Thorin hopes that he may learn something from the trip,” Fili said, and he jerked his head slightly at the bow he carried.

Dwalin folded his burly arms and narrowed his eyes. “Thorin thinks now is a good time for training, does he?” he said, staring thoughtfully at Fili.

Fili did not flinch in the least under Dwalin's gaze. “It is better that he should be away from the mountain,” he said. “It isn't safe for him here. With the elves.”

Dwalin was silent a moment, watching Fili closely. Then he uncrossed his arms.

“Aye,” he said. “The elves.” He glanced at Bilbo. “You should make him carry his own pack, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “I'm sure it's not idleness he is supposed to be learning.”

Bilbo started, realising he still held both his own and Kili's baggage in his arms. “Yes,” he said, “yes, of course, you are right. I was just in a hurry--” He cut himself off, for of course Dwalin would wonder why he had been in a hurry, and that could hardly lead to good things. “Er, I was late!” he said. “I was keeping Master Fili waiting, and so...” He trailed off again, and thrust Kili's pack towards him. Kili ignored it for a moment, and Bilbo held his breath, but then he glanced briefly at Bilbo from under his hair and took the pack from him, shouldering it silently. Dwalin watched the whole procedure without comment, though there was a rather appraising look on his face.

“Well, then,” he said finally, “off you go.” And he opened the secret door and stood by it as Fili led the way out into the little bay. They set to climbing over the rock walls, Fili deliberately, Kili rather spider-like, as he had been in the wildlands those many days before, and both of them reaching down to pull Bilbo up when they reached the top. Dwalin was still watching them from the doorway with that thoughtful look on his face, and when Fili turned back to raise his hand in farewell, he returned the gesture.

“Don't do anything stupid,” he said, and there was a note of something that might have been regret in his voice. 

Fili smiled, but there was a tightness to his face. “It's been too late for that advice for many years,” he said.

And then they climbed down the other side of the wall onto the narrow ledge, and edged along it to the rough path, and stumbled down as fast as they could without losing their footing until they stood in the narrow valley where they had camped just a few days before. Bilbo had been scared, then, scared of the dragon and what Durin's Day might bring. He had never thought that the dragon might become the least of his worries.

“What do we do now?” he asked, shivering a little as the wind blew up through the valley.

Fili glanced back at the mountain he had dreamed of for all his young life. “We cannot go south," he said. "Not with the elf king there." He shook his head and looked northwards, to where the valley opened out into lands Bilbo had never seen, and then back up towards the secret door. "I do not know if my uncle will send anyone after us,” he said, “but I suggest we run.”

\----

And so they ran.

At first, Bilbo was afraid that Kili would not be able to keep up, but it seemed he had underestimated the little dwarf's strength and stamina -- and not for the first time, either -- and in fact, it should have been himself he was concerned for. The two dwarves quickly outpaced him in the short turf of the high valley, and Bilbo had none of the advantage his nimble feet would have given him on more uneven ground. He was contemplating calling for them to slow down -- although he had little enough left in the way of breath after sprinting to try and keep up -- when Kili glanced behind and then stopped, waiting for Bilbo and seeming barely winded (a fact which produced a rather irrational surge of irritation in Bilbo). Fili noticed moments later that his brother was no longer keeping abreast of him, and stopped too, looking back in concern, but by this time, Bilbo had almost reached Kili.

“Hobbit,” Kili said when Bilbo got there, “why we go-- go--”

“Run?” panted Bilbo. “We're running from Thorin.”

Kili nodded grimly. “Good run,” he muttered, and then held out his arms. “Hobbit go on back,” he said. “Run is more good.”

“I can't,” Bilbo said. “You aren't strong enough to carry me.”

Kili made a rather incredulous face. “Strong,” he said. “Yes, strong. Hobbit go on back.”

“Kili!” Fili called, starting to run back towards them.

“Oh, bother,” muttered Bilbo, for he felt greatly reluctant to have Kili carry him, although he could not explain why. But he hopped onto Kili's back, and Kili gripped his legs and the two of them rearranged themselves until their packs and Kili's collar and chain were not too greatly in the way. By the time they were thus organised, Fili had reached them.

“You cannot carry him,” he said to Kili. “You aren't strong enough.”

Kili made no answer to this, but simply began to run, jogging a little at first, and then lengthening his stride until he was loping, covering the ground with startling speed. Fili had to sprint to catch up, and then the two of them seemed to fall into an easy rhythm, side by side, not speaking. Bilbo clung on and felt the pounding of Kili's feet against the turf vibrating up through his entire body. The cool air stung against his face, causing his eyes to water, and after perhaps ten minutes the valley opened out into a broad, rocky slope that led down to the wide, broken plain that lay to the north of the mountain. Beyond the plain, in the far distance, a range of hills lay glowering under the grey sky.

And they ran on.

\----

Eventually, though, Kili began to falter.

It was late in the afternoon, and the two dwarves had been running for hours, when Bilbo became aware of the fact that the pounding of Kili's feet had become uneven, and Bilbo, rather than being jogged constantly from one side to the other, was listing rather worryingly to one side for the majority of the time. The endless rhythm of the running had caused him to sink into a rather trance-like state, and so he was not at all sure how long this strange rhythm had been continuing by the time it impinged on his consciousness, but he knew that it could not be a good thing, and a moment later he remembered Kili's misshapen knee and understood.

“Fili,” he called, and Fili glanced at him and then frowned, catching the unevenness of his brother's stride. He slowed, and a moment later Kili slowed, too, limping to a stop a few paces ahead of his brother. Fili took a step forward, and Kili danced half a step back, and then they simply stood for a moment, Fili staring at his brother in consternation and Kili with his face half turned away.

Bilbo broke the stalemate by sliding from Kili's back. “Oh,” he said, “I am all battered to pieces! You dwarves must have bones of iron.”

“ _Here is metal, here is stone_ ,” Fili murmured, and Kili seemed to stiffen a little, though he still did not look at his brother. Fili closed his eyes a moment, then turned to look back at the mountain, distant now in the failing light.

“We will sleep here,” he said, gesturing at a nearby rocky overhang. “And tomorrow--” he trailed off and shook his head. “I will -- I will see if I can find us some food and water.”

And he strode off and was quickly lost to sight among the scattered tors and hillocks that broke the line of the plain.

Bilbo took a moment to compose himself. The mountain still loomed over them, but it seemed far away, so far, and now they were out in the open and they could not go back. He felt suddenly quite exposed, and he turned as ever to Kili, looking for something to busy himself with that was not the broad expanse of grey sky and the rocks that loomed like broken teeth here and there in the landscape.

“You should have let your brother carry me,” he said. “Your leg must hurt a great deal.”

Kili seemed not to understand him, but he allowed Bilbo to lead him to the overhang and push him gently to the ground, settling him with his back against the rock. He seemed restless, though, his eyes not drifting -- to Bilbo's great relief -- but continually darting to and fro, as if watching for something, though his head remained slightly bowed. Bilbo rolled up the leg of his breeches and probed the bad knee. It did not seem swollen, but it was a little warm to the touch.

“Does this hurt?” he asked.

Kili looked down at his knee, then back up at Bilbo. “Yes,” he said. “Is hurt. Leg is hurt, long time.”

Bilbo remembered when he had first discovered the injury. Of course, Kili had been able to tell him nothing about it, then, but now--

“Does it hurt often?” he asked.

Kili seemed to consider this. “Not for walk,” he said. “For run. Hurt for run. Hurt when orcs--” he stopped, and shook his head. “Not can say,” he decided. “Not know word.”

“Well,” Bilbo said, although he was not sure he really wanted to know what the orcs had done to Kili's knee, “can you describe it? Maybe I can help you find the word.”

Kili shook his head again. “I not want say,” he said. “Orcs -- I not want speak orcs.”

Bilbo sat back on his heels. “I do not blame you at all, my lad,” he said. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

Kili seemed rather relieved at this, as if he had not expected to be given this choice. He stared intently at Bilbo, then. “Fili hurt hobbit?” he asked. “Fili's head is wrong?”

“No!” Bilbo said. “Fili has saved us both, my lad. I shouldn't wonder if he's the only dwarf in the whole wretched company whose head is right.” Kili looked unconvinced, and Bilbo patted his arm. “He was pretending,” he said. “He was -- he was making Thorin think he was punishing me so that he could get us away from the mountain.”

This seemed rather a lot for Kili to cope with, and he sat for a moment digesting it before looking back at Bilbo with something that seemed like it might have been hope in his face.

“Make think only?” he said.

“Yes,” Bilbo said firmly. “Fili is good. He is your brother, and my friend, and his head is not wrong.”

Kili's shoulders sagged a little. “Good,” he whispered. “Not want Fili not brother.”

“Don't worry, my lad,” Bilbo said. “Fili will always be your brother.”

\----

It was possible, Bilbo decided later, that Kili had not slept at all the night before, or at least not after Bilbo had found him and explained to him the details of their situation, for by the time Fili returned with a skin of water and a brace of rabbits, the little dwarf had fallen asleep where he sat. Fili sat down next to him as if his legs could no longer hold him up, and he reached out a hand, but then stopped, his palm hovering over Kili's head.

“He does not trust me,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “I have tried so hard, but I have lost his trust again.”

“No,” Bilbo said. “No, I don't think so, master dwarf. I think he understands what it is you have done, and why.”

Fili turned to him, then, his mouth twisted and tight. “Do you know this?”

Bilbo nodded. “I do,” he said. 

Fili's hand dropped to his side, then, and a moment later it came up to cover his face. He looked the picture of misery, and Bilbo leaned forward cautiously to pat him, but Fili jerked away at the first touch of his hand, stumbling to his feet.

“Do not touch me,” he hissed, and Bilbo sat back in surprise.

“What?” he said. “Are you injured?”

Fili shook his head and laughed, an unpleasant sound that had nothing of humour in it. “Aye, master hobbit,” he said. “I am injured indeed. But you should know that, since it was your hand that held the knife.”

Bilbo got to his own feet, now, frowning. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“What I say,” Fili said. “I mean what I say, which is more than I can say for you.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “But--” he said. “But I thought you understood! You saved me from your uncle's prison!”

“I saved my brother,” Fili snapped, though he kept his voice low. “And to save him, I had to save you. But you -- you stole the Arkenstone, and you let my brother teach you our language, though you knew full well what it meant. You have caused all of this, Mr. Baggins, and now Kili and I have lost our home and our family and we are-- We are--” He broke off with a sob that might have been sorrow but was more probably rage, and stumbled a few paces away, turning his face away from Bilbo.

“No,” Bilbo said. “No, Fili, I was only trying to help. Your uncle would have had us starve to death before handing over any of the gold.”

“That is his right!” Fili said. “The gold is his to pass on or not, as he chooses. He is King Under the Mountain and the men of Lake-Town saw fit to try and force his hand, as though they had more right to our kingdom than he has. If he had given them what they wanted, how long before they returned with more men, with more elves--” and here he paused and grimaced in rage and disgust “-- to try their luck once more? He cannot permit others to see him as weak, do you not see?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Well, in any case, I am owed a thirteenth share of the gold,” he said, though he felt suddenly rather uncertain about the whole thing, “and so I think I had the right to give it to them.”

“But you did not give them a thirteenth share of the gold,” Fili said, his voice cold with anger now. “You gave them the Arkenstone.”

“Oh, drat the Arkenstone!” Bilbo cried, and Kili started and woke, eyes suddenly wide and alert, watching them both. “It is only a jewel, after all!”

Fili turned back to face Bilbo then, his eyes flashing. “Perhaps to you,” he said. “And perhaps to you, Erebor is only a mountain. But it is our home, Mr. Baggins, our kingdom. Mine and my brother's. And you have stolen that from us, just as surely as you stole the Arkenstone from my uncle.” He shook his head. “Gandalf chose well indeed,” he said. “You are quite the master burglar.”

Bilbo could find no words to respond to this. “Your uncle, Fili,” he said. “Your uncle is not well.”

Fili did not reply, but his face did not soften in the least. Bilbo swallowed and spoke on. “He has been-- I was afraid. I was afraid of what he would do. Of what his behaviour was already doing to your brother. I thought if we could just send away the men and elves, we could find a way to help him. That's why I gave them the Arkenstone, only to help you all. I swear, I meant no harm by it.”

Fili did not speak for a long moment, but he did not turn away, either. Finally, he shook his head. “And the _iglishmêk_?” he asked stiffly. “Was it fear of my uncle that drove you to make my brother teach you that?”

“I did not make him do anything!” Bilbo cried, feeling really quite put-upon now. “I refused and refused, but your brother insisted, and we all know how stubborn dwarves can be!”

“Do not try to blame him,” Fili said. “He would not do such a thing.”

“Why not?” Bilbo asked. “He does not understand your ridiculous dwarven customs any more than I do!” He rather wished he could call the words back when he saw Fili's face darken, and he quickly raised his hands, palms outwards. “Do you truly think I would blame him to protect myself?” he said, trying to at least sound calm. “After everything, do you believe that of me?”

Fili stared at him, and Bilbo stared back, not knowing what he would do if the answer was positive, not knowing whether Fili would simply send him out into the empty lands on his own, and what he would do if he did. But finally, Fili dropped his gaze, and his shoulders slumped.

“I am so angry,” he said. “I am so angry.” And now he raised his eyes to meet Bilbo's, and he seemed on the verge of tears. “But my uncle is not well,” he said, “and I do not know what to do.”

Bilbo sighed, but he did not reach out, for although it seemed that he was not to be sent away after all, he was not sure that Fili would accept his comfort. “I know, master dwarf,” he said, and looked once again towards the mountain where it scowled under the darkening sky. “I do not know what to do, either.”


	32. Chapter 32

There was little talk that night. Fili built a fire and cooked the rabbits, and Bilbo collected more water and went through what they had managed to bring with them, finding that they had no food at all, not even _cram_. He could not decide whether he was concerned by this or pleased, for anything they had brought away would have meant one less meal for the dwarves still trapped in the mountain, and at least they were able to bring down rabbits, scrawny though they might be. Bilbo still felt angry with the company, and scared of Thorin, but he did not want them to starve, any of them, for they were his friends.

After they had eaten, Fili stood looking down at Kili. There was trouble on his face, but that was nothing new -- the tension that held him like a drawn bowstring had not eased at all since Bard had produced the Arkenstone. Now, though, he glanced at Bilbo.

“I need to talk to my brother,” he said, and these were almost the first words he had addressed to Bilbo since their argument earlier.

It was not clear to Bilbo why Fili had declared this, for Kili was awake and Bilbo was not, as far as he knew, in any way an obstacle to a conversation between them. He nodded and waited, and Fili's mouth twitched unhappily.

“I ask that you do not speak,” he said.

Bilbo began to understand. “Do you want me to go somewhere else?” he asked. In truth, he was not in the least easy with the idea of Fili interrogating Kili in his absence, but he knew he had yet to regain the young dwarf's trust, and even had they not been wandering in the open and almost entirely dependent on Fili to find food for them, he would not have wished to lose Fili's confidence for any longer than necessary.

Fili shook his head, although he seemed rather reluctant. “You must stay,” he said, his voice strained. “Sometimes I -- I do not understand what he tries to say.” He did not look at Bilbo, now, and there was anger in the way his mouth twisted. 

“Then I'll stay,” Bilbo said. “And I won't speak unless asked.” He considered adding that he had not corrupted Kili in the least, and that all of this was quite unnecessary, not to mention unfair to Bilbo himself, but he did not, and simply said it inside his head, which was not nearly as satisfying but a great deal less damaging to his relationship with Fili.

Fili hesitated a moment, as if he wished to send Bilbo away after all, but then he nodded stiffly and sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of his brother. Kili watched him, waiting silently, and Fili closed his eyes a moment, seeming to compose himself before he spoke.

“Kili,” he said. “Kili, my brother, why did you teach the hobbit _iglishmêk_?”

Kili glanced sideways at Bilbo. “It is hand-speak,” he said. “Hand-speak, yes?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, “ _iglishmêk_ is hand-speak.” He remembered that he had promised not to speak unless asked only when he found Fili scowling at him. “Sorry,” he muttered, and Fili turned back to his brother.

“ _Iglishmêk_ ,” he said. “It is the name our people give to it.”

“ _Iglishmek_ ,” said Kili, and although the word was largely the same, the broad dwarvish sounds became sharp and guttural in Kili's mouth and Fili looked suddenly dismayed.

“Hand-speak, then,” he said after a tense pause. “Did the hobbit ask you to teach him?”

“No,” Kili said. “Hobbit not want learn. Hobbit say -- sayed, hobbit sayed dwarves not want hobbit learn.”

Fili sat back on his heels, and Bilbo restrained himself from making any comment. After all, there was still every chance that Fili would blame Bilbo for all that had transpired, especially after the business with the Arkenstone. Bilbo was beginning to wish they had never arrived in Erebor, but instead had stayed at Beorn's house for the rest of their lives.

“Then why?” Fili asked. “Why did you teach him if you knew it was wrong?”

Kili shook his head. “Is not wrong,” he said. “Is good hobbit learn hand-speak. Hobbit can speak me, elves make not speak.”

Fili frowned. “I don't understand,” he said. 

Kili looked at Bilbo expectantly, but Bilbo shook his head. He had promised not to interfere unless asked, and what was more, it seemed to him that Fili would benefit from trying to understand what his brother was saying without help. Kili gave him a slight frown, then turned back to Fili.

“Elves,” he said. “Make not speak. Before. Maked -- maked not speak?”

Bilbo pressed his lips together to prevent himself from helping, and hoped that Fili would have the patience to assist his brother even though he was clearly half-desperate to hear the truth. 

“Made,” said Fili. “They made you not speak.”

“Yes,” Kili said, grimacing slightly. “Made. Before, in trees, elves made not speak. I wanted speak hobbit, not can. Wanted speak hand-speak hobbit, hobbit not understand.”

Fili nodded slowly. “You had not taught him yet?”

Kili thought about this a moment. “No,” he said. “Want teach, hobbit say no, say no, say no. Elves made not speak, is--” He stopped, suddenly looking grim indeed. “Is bad,” he said finally. “More very bad. I not want -- not want again, not want not can speak hobbit.”

“And Mr. -- and the hobbit did not ask you to teach him?” Fili said again.

Kili shook his head quickly. “I teach, hobbit not want learn. Say me no, all day. I bad, hobbit not bad.”

Fili seemed to sag. “This is true?” he said to Bilbo, and Bilbo nodded. Fili turned back to his brother, then.

“You are not bad, Kili,” he said. “But you cannot teach _ig_ \-- the, the hand-speak, you cannot teach it to anyone who is not a dwarf. It is only for dwarves, do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Kili. “Hobbit sayed me before. I understand dwarves not want teach.”

Fili heaved a great sigh. “Good,” he said. “Then you will not teach him any more?”

Kili stayed silent, and Fili frowned at him. “Kili?” he said. “Did you understand me?”

“I understand,” Kili said. 

“Then what is your answer?” Fili asked. “You cannot teach him more, my brother, it is not for him to learn.”

Kili slowly shook his head. “I not want not can speak hobbit,” he said. “Why not teach hand-speak? Elves make not speak, orcs cut tongue, want speak. Not want only can speak dwarfs.”

“The orcs?” Fili said. “The orcs cut your tongue? Show me.”

Kili shook his head. “Not now,” he said. “Orcs come again, cut tongue.”

“I don't--” Fili started, but despite his promise, Bilbo could not bear to hear Kili repeat this particular conversation, and so he broke in.

“He thinks if they take him again, they may cut out his tongue,” he said. “Apparently he has seen it happen to prisoners before.”

Fili's eyes grew wide and his face pale. Kili was staring at him, as if willing him to understand, but Fili seemed unable to speak for a moment, reaching out a hand to grip Kili's forearm.

“The orcs will not take you again,” he said. “This I swear. They will never have your tongue, my brother.”

Kili did not seem in the least convinced by this. “I teach hobbit hand-speak?” he said.

“No,” Fili said. “No, you cannot. I -- I understand what you have done, though I do not like it.” And here he glanced at Bilbo and though there was still anger in his face, it was tempered now with sorrow. “But you cannot teach him any more, Kili. Please, do not teach him more.”

Kili looked at Bilbo then, and Bilbo nodded. “You should not teach me any more,” he said, though in his heart of hearts he still felt the layers of secrecy the dwarves wrapped themselves in did more harm to them than good.

Kili looked most unhappy at this, but he did not protest, and after a moment Fili sighed.

“Well, my brother,” he said, “it seems I know even less about you than I thought I did.” He glanced again at Bilbo, and Bilbo felt obscurely guilty. “We have come to a difficult place, and no mistake,” Fili said, “but I hope that you will be patient with me while I learn. And I hope you will help me.” And now he looked at Bilbo again, and Bilbo nodded firmly.

“We will find a way, master dwarf,” he said. “We always find a way.”

“I hope you are right,” said Fili.

And Bilbo very much hoped so, too.

\----

The morning was grey, as the day before had been, and there was an edge to the air that promised chill weather to come. Bilbo awoke with the dawn, and lay still for a little while, worrying about being caught out here in unknown territory in the winter. He tried to remember Thorin's map, but the details of the lands to the north of Erebor were rather blurred in his mind, and he could not remember the name of the range of hills that sat low and sullen on the horizon. Should they make for them, he wondered, or would they be goblin territory, or worse? There had been many times over the past months when he had felt exposed, but at least then he had generally had a whole company of armed dwarves with him, and a map, and an idea of the dangers they would face on the way. Now there was only Fili, who had never set foot in these lands before, and Kili, who was even less equipped to defend himself than was Bilbo. It was a pretty pickle, and no mistake.

It seemed that Bilbo was not the only member of their party to be having such thoughts, though, for when he sat up, he saw that Fili and Kili were standing several paces away, and to Bilbo's surprise, Kili held the bow that Fili had taken from the great chamber the day before, pulling the string back with a frown of concentration on his face, though there was no arrow in his hands. Bilbo got quickly to his feet and hastened over to them.

“What is this?” he asked. 

Kili greeted him with a nod, but did not let go of the bow. Fili reached out and adjusted his grip, then looked at Bilbo.

“I would not have him unable to defend himself,” he said. “We have left this too long as it is.”

“I see,” Bilbo said. He had a moment of discomfort remembering Kili and his knives at Beorn's, but so much had changed since then, and he could hardly dispute the truth in Fili's words. “But the bow is a difficult weapon, is it not? Perhaps a dagger might be easier for him?”

“He was once the best bowman in the Blue Mountains,” Fili said, sighting down Kili's arm and then moving it upwards a fraction. “He would have thought it a great joke that I should be teaching him.” He gave a slight smile. “I hope you were wrong when you said I could not hit the broad side of a barn, my brother, or at least that you will be able to surpass your untalented teacher.”

Kili's eyes flicked to his brother, and then back to the bow. He stood perfectly still, holding the position that Fili had put him in, and Fili stood back and nodded.

“Time for an arrow, then,” he said, and reached to the quiver that hung on his back. He took the arrow and fitted it carefully to the bow, not speaking to Kili, but rather moving his arms and fingers gently until they were placed to his satisfaction. Bilbo watched in fascination. He had, of course, seen archers shoot before -- most frequently during his sojourns in Rivendell and Mirkwood -- but he had never really thought of dwarves as bowmen. This bow was shorter and stouter than the ones the elves used, as befitted its dwarvish origin, and it seemed to suit Kili much better than Bilbo would have imagined. Bilbo tried once more to picture the little dwarf before the orcs, confident and laughing and apparently greatly skilled with a bow and arrow, to the point of mocking his brother. In fact, it was this last that Bilbo found most difficult to reconcile with his own knowledge, and eventually he gave up and simply enjoyed watching the progress of the lesson.

Kili's first shot went some way wide of the chunk of turf that Fili had set up as a target, and his second landed far beyond it. Fili shook his head, looking rather despondent. 

“Yes,” he said. “Those look like my shots indeed.” He took a step back. “Perhaps it might be better if you learned on your own, brother.”

Kili looked sideways at him, still rather stiffly holding the position Fili had placed him in, and Fili nodded. “Keep shooting,” he said. 

But Kili did not seem to understand this, standing still as if waiting for more instruction. Fili frowned and held an arrow out to him.

“You do not need me to tell you what to do,” he said. “Come. Shoot.”

Kili looked now at Bilbo, and Bilbo mimed shooting a bow -- no doubt rather poorly -- and pointed at Kili. “Your brother wants you to shoot, master dwarf,” he said.

Kili lowered the bow, then, though rather hesitantly and keeping his eyes on Fili as he did so, as if watching for some sign that he was acting incorrectly. Fili nodded encouragingly, and held out the arrow again, and after a moment Kili took it and carefully fitted it to the bow. Before he raised it, though, he looked at Bilbo again with a worried frown, then at Fili.

“I do,” he said. “I do, yes? Make go? It is right?” 

“It is right,” Fili said. “I want you to shoot.” He mimed drawing a bow and letting fly. “ _Shoot_ ,” he said. “I want you to shoot.”

“Shoot,” Kili muttered, and then raised the bow, but not without another troubled glance at Bilbo. Bilbo tried to look as reassuring as he could, and Kili focussed down the line of the arrow, seeming for a moment so still that he might have been carved from stone. Then he let the arrow fly, and all three watched intently to see where it would land.

It did not hit the target, nor really come close at all, but it was still nearer than either of the shots Fili had lined up for his brother, and Bilbo smiled encouragingly.

“Very good!” he said.

But Kili did not look at him, or even seem to be listening. He had his head cocked on one side, looking first at the target, then at the arrow, frowning, but not in an unhappy way. Finally, he nodded.

“Sky is wrong,” he said, and looked at Fili. “Sky is wrong, yes?”

Fili glanced up at the sky. “I don't understand,” he said.

Kili turned then to Bilbo. “Sky?” he said, but Bilbo shook his head.

“I'm afraid I don't understand, either,” he said.

Kili made a frustrated noise. “Sky is wrong,” he muttered, though he seemed to be talking to himself now, and he looked up and around, stuck his tongue out a moment, then frowned intently at the target. “Shoot more?” he asked.

“Yes,” Fili said. “As much as you want.” He laid the quiver on the ground at Kili's feet, and Kili stooped and took an arrow, considering it for a long moment before fitting it to the bow. He stuck his tongue out again, turned his head a little, and then his whole body, aiming in such a way that Bilbo suddenly thought he had not understood what he was supposed to be shooting at. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but then Kili let fly, and the arrow passed within two feet of the edge of the target.

Bilbo felt his mouth drop open, and when he looked at Fili, the young dwarf's expression mirrored his own. Kili did not seem to notice their astonishment, for he was focussed intently on the path the arrow had taken. “Yes,” he said finally, and turned to Fili. “Sky is wrong. Go like this.” He pointed in Bilbo's direction. “Make shoot wrong.”

“The wind,” Fili said in a wondering tone. “He always used to tell me I had to pay attention to the direction of the wind.”

“You have done this before, then,” Bilbo said, though he could not imagine a circumstance in which the orcs would have Kili shooting a bow. Kili gave him a puzzled look, and he tried again. “You have shot a bow before? This is not the first time?”

“No,” Kili said. “Not shoot before. First time.”

“Then how--” Fili said, and his voice cracked a little, the hope on his face almost too much for Bilbo to bear. “How did you know, brother? About the -- about the sky?”

Kili frowned down at the bow in his hand. “Know,” he said, and then looked up at Fili. “Is it I remember?” he asked. “Kili is know this?”

“Yes,” Fili breathed. “Yes, you used to know this. You used to know more about this than any dwarf.”

Kili nodded. “I remember,” he said thoughtfully, looking down at the bow again. “Remember shoot.”

Fili made a strangled noise and strode the short distance to his brother, grasping his face in both hands and pressing a firm kiss to his temple before dropping his hands to the little dwarf's shoulders and beaming at him. Kili's eyes widened, and he raised a cautious hand to his head and touched the place where Fili had kissed him.

“Why do this?” he asked. “It is good?”

Bilbo laughed. “It is very good,” he said. “Your brother is very proud of you.”

“I am proud,” said Fili. “And I love you. I love you, my brother, though I know you do not understand what that means.”

Kili nodded, still fingering his temple. “It is good,” he muttered, then looked at Fili. “Shoot more?”

Fili laughed. “As much as you want,” he said. “As much as you want.”

\----

The step from shooting entirely wide of the mark to shooting rather close to it turned out to be much easier than the subsequent refinements in technique, and it took Kili more than an hour and a great deal of frowning and sticking out his tongue to finally graze the edge of the target. Eventually, once Fili realised that the little dwarf was using his tongue to sense the direction of the wind, they taught him how to lick his finger and hold it up, and Kili seemed very pleased with this innovation. Bilbo wondered how it was that the little dwarf had never known this before, but when he thought on it he understood that it would be a difficult technique if one's hands were bound, and he carefully thought no further.

Finally, Fili called a halt to proceedings. Although they had nowhere to go and no plan to follow, he seemed loath to stay in one place for too long, and Bilbo, if he was honest, felt the same. The broken land offered some shelter under rocky overhangs and behind hillocks, but it was not the fastness of the mountain, or even the thick woods of the wildlands, and he felt a nagging unease at how open everything was.

“Come then,” Fili said, stepping over to his brother, and Kili nodded and held out the bow and the arrows that were left. Fili shook his head. “No, my brother,” he said. “They are yours. They should always have been yours. I give them to you.”

Kili looked hopefully at the bow for a moment, but then his mouth turned down at the corners and he shook his head.

“I not want,” he said. “Fili take.”

Fili frowned at this. “Of course you want them,” he said. “What should I take them for? I might as well be carrying rocks, for all the good they will do me.” He pushed the bow and arrows back towards Kili, but Kili shook his head again.

“Fili take,” he said insistently. “Not my bow, not want.”

Fili glanced at Bilbo, then. “Why will he not take them?” he asked, as if he expected Bilbo to hold all the answers to the mysteries of his brother.

“I have no idea,” Bilbo said. “Come, lad,” he said to Kili. “Your brother is giving you a gift. Why will you not accept it?”

“Thank you,” Kili said quickly, but still he held the bow out to Fili. “Not my bow.”

“What is the matter?” Bilbo said. “It is no different from your pictures, or the harp Fili gave--” But he stopped, then, because the pictures and the harp lay still in Erebor, forgotten when they fled the mountain, and although Bilbo had not given them a thought up until this moment, it was suddenly clear to him that Kili had.

Fili gave Bilbo a troubled look, and it was clear he had come to the same realisation. He reached out and gripped his brother's arm. “We will get your pictures back,” he said. “And the harp, too. We will get our home back, I promise.”

Kili stared at Fili, but he did not answer, and still he held out the bow. Finally, Fili sighed.

“I will not give it to you,” he said. “But I ask that you carry it. It is still mine, but I want you to carry it.”

Kili stood still a moment, and then he slowly pulled the bow back. “Carry only?” he said. 

“Yes,” said Fili. “It would help me if you would carry it.”

Kili nodded, then, and slung the bow and quiver across his back. Bilbo found he was wringing his hands a little, and forced himself to stop. Truly, in amongst all the terrible things that had happened in the last few months, even in the last few days, this was of little import indeed. And yet it cut Bilbo to the quick, for no reason he could well discern, and he wished that they could have a quiet little cottage somewhere, perhaps under a hill, with a crackling fire and warm food and time, endless time to let Kili make his slow progress without anything pushing him back.

But they had no cottage, and no fire, and no food. They had only the empty, broken land and the wide grey sky and the mountain, glowering in the distance and as far away now as it had been when they had left the borders of the Shire so many days ago.

“We should go,” Fili said, sounding suddenly exhausted.

And so they did.

\----

Towards midday, Kili stopped walking suddenly and turned his head, frowning towards the west. Bilbo crashed into the little dwarf's back, and Fili stopped when he heard the hobbit's muffled squeak.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, looking west himself. “Do you see something?”

“Hear,” Kili said quietly, and when Bilbo turned his head so that the wind was not rushing past his ears, he heard it, too: a distant sound of voices and feet, many, many voices and many, many feet, and horses whinnying one to another.

“Dain,” Fili said, shading his eyes. “He makes his way to the mountain.”

Bilbo squinted against the light and saw what Fili saw: a slow-moving mass of figures, though whether they were dwarves or of some other race he could not discern at this distance.

“Should we go to them?” he asked.

Fili stood in indecision a moment, but finally shook his head. “You have betrayed his cousin,” he said, “and so have I, and so has Kili. Dain knows Thorin, but he does not know us. I do not know what he would do.”

Bilbo sighed, the little hope that had flared up quickly extinguished. “Then what should we do, master dwarf?” he asked. “Where should we go?”

“Away,” Fili said grimly. “Until we hear that my uncle is well again, we can only go away.”

Bilbo would have liked to have pointed out that _go away_ was rather limited as plans went, but he knew that there was little help for it, for he had no better ideas himself. And so they kept their heads low and passed in the shadow of rocky outcrops as much as possible, and far away to the west, Dain's army marched on.

\----

The second time Kili stopped was barely an hour later, and this time Bilbo was walking by his side, so that he did not collide with the little dwarf. Kili stared intently to the north-east this time, and Bilbo looked in that direction, too, but his view was blocked by a large rocky tor.

“Fili,” he called in a low voice.

Fili stopped and looked back.

“Dain again?” he said.

Bilbo shook his head, for there was no way Dain's army could have moved around them and now be marching to the north-east. He turned his head to listen, and heard the faint sound of voices on the breeze, but they were few, and harsh, sharp and guttural and--

“Orcs,” Kili said. “Orcs come.”

Fili's eyes widened in horror. “From there?” he said, pointing north-east, and both Bilbo and Kili nodded. Fili grabbed his brother's arm, then.

“We must find shelter,” he said. “Quickly!”

And with that, Bilbo found himself running again.

\----

They ran westwards, perhaps because Fili had some thought that an appeal to Dain would at least be preferable to being caught by orcs, or perhaps for no reason other than that the land seemed even more broken and craggy in that direction. Bilbo quickly found himself caught up by Kili again, and then just as quickly passed to Fili, and where the two dwarves had loped the day before, now they ran all out, and Bilbo felt the teeth rattle in his head as Fili's boots pounded on the turf. The orcs had been distant when first they had heard them, and for a little while Bilbo thought that they might have escaped their notice all together. His hope was punctured, though, when a screeching cry rose behind them, one that Bilbo had not heard since their last day in the wildlands, and one that he had hoped never to hear again. 

At the sound, Fili flung himself behind the nearest rock formation, grabbing his brother's elbow and pulling him after. They pressed themselves against the rock, and Fili set Bilbo on the ground.

“Your ring, Bilbo,” he said. “Put on your ring and see if you can see how far away they are.”

Bilbo nodded and fumbled in his pocket, slipping on the ring and stumbling out from behind the rock. What he saw made his blood run cold in his veins: five orcs stood on the crest of a high hillock not half a mile away. Each rode a warg, and they scanned the landscape, heads turning constantly as if looking for something. 

“They know we're here,” Bilbo said, slipping back behind the rock and taking off the ring. “They'll see us if we run.”

Fili nodded grimly. “And they will smell us if we don't,” he said. “How many?”

“Five,” said Bilbo. He had seen Fili kill five orcs single-handed before, but only when they were sleeping or only just awake, and certainly not when they had wargs with them.

Fili closed his eyes. “Perhaps we can find a refuge,” he muttered, and began edging his way along the rock, keeping it at his back. Bilbo followed with Kili, and he kept his eyes open for anything that might hide them, though he had little hope, for there was not even a lone tree on this plain, let alone a stand or a forest into which they could disappear.

But all was not lost, for Fili rounded a bulge in the rock and then gave a low cry, and Bilbo hurried after, tugging Kili with him. Fili was on one knee, inspecting what looked at first glance to be a rabbit hole at the base of the rock. But a closer look revealed it to be a junction between the corners of two different tors, creating a narrow space that led down into the ground, barely wide enough for a dwarf to squeeze through, certainly too narrow for an orc or a warg. At Fili's nod, Bilbo quickly put on his ring and slipped inside, finding that the entrance widened out into something that was not quite a cave, but more a shelter made by the overhangs of the two rock formations, tall enough for Bilbo to stand upright, though not for the dwarves. 

“It's safe,” he called up, and a moment later Kili slid down into the shelter. Bilbo tugged him out of the way, and waited for Fili to follow, but there was only silence. After a moment, stomach churning in worry, Bilbo stepped forward so he could see up through the crack in the rocks.

“Master Fili?” he called.

“I must draw them off,” Fili said in a low voice. “They come too close. They will have no trouble tracking us here if nothing distracts them.”

“Fili, no, you mustn't,” Bilbo hissed. “They have wargs!”

Fili glanced down into the shelter, and he wore a reassuring grin, but it was a little too tight around the corners of his lips.

“Don't worry, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “I will return. Look after my brother for me until then.”

And then, without waiting for a response, he was gone. Bilbo called after him, but there was no reply, and he considered scrambling back out of the shelter and going after the young dwarf, but he knew that he could not catch him, and could not force him to come back even if he did, and he knew also that if he went, Kili would be sure to follow him.

“Oh!” Bilbo cried, feeling quite at his wits' end. “These wretched dwarves will be the end of me!”

“Hobbit,” Kili said in a low voice, and Bilbo looked over to where he sat in the far corner of the shelter, “where Fili go?”

Bilbo tried to come up with a convincing lie, but there was nothing he could think of that would explain why Fili would abandon his brother in the middle of this empty land when orcs were on the prowl, and in any case, he had promised himself not three days before that he would stop lying to the little dwarf, whether or not it seemed to be in his own interests.

“Your brother has gone to find the orcs,” he said. “He wants them to follow him so that they do not follow us.”

Kili's eyes grew wide in the dim light, but then he suddenly bowed his head. “Orcs kill Fili,” he said, his voice dull and quiet.

“No,” Bilbo said, trying to sound convincing, though he was far from convinced himself. “No, my lad, your brother is strong, he is fast. They will not kill him.” 

But Kili did not look up, and after a while, Bilbo sat beside him in the darkness and bowed his own head.

\----

An hour passed, perhaps more, and Bilbo found that he could not sit still for long, pacing the little shelter and wringing his hands, glancing up out of the entrance every time he passed it in the vain hope of seeing Fili's smiling face. Kili did not move, sitting as still as he had that day in the forest, his head bowed, and nothing Bilbo said seemed to be able to rouse him from his dark thoughts, so that eventually Bilbo stopped trying at all, and instead found himself lost in his own worries. Two months ago he would have been sad indeed to lose the quiet, melancholy young dwarf, but now the idea tore at his heart, leaving it tattered inside his chest. How had he come to depend so much upon this company of ridiculous dwarves, with their crudeness and profanity, their brash spirits and loyal hearts and their single-minded stubbornness that would push the most serene elf-lord to the end of their patience? Now they were all locked inside the mountain, perhaps soon to be caught up in battle and led by a mad king who Bilbo wished to see happy even after everything, and here Bilbo was, exiled with the two dwarves that had most entangled themselves into his affections, and one perhaps dead already and the other all but helpless with none but a soft, scared little hobbit to defend him. Bilbo looked back on the many difficult days since he left his home, and he could not for the life of him see when it had happened, when he had gone from tolerating his companions to enjoying their company, and from there to loving them.

But love them he did, he realised now, and too much, too, for it was more than his heart could bear to think of the situation they found themselves in now. And if Fili-- If Fili, of all of them, was gone, Bilbo could not say what he would do next, or even if there was anything that could be done at all.

It was Kili that drew Bilbo out of his spiralling thoughts, for he sat up suddenly, raising his head as if listening, and Bilbo immediately paused in his pacing, listening too. He heard quiet footsteps approaching their hiding place, and he drew his sword and stood between Kili and the entrance, trying to swallow, though his throat was dry enough that it was painful to do so. The footsteps came closer, and Bilbo felt his fingers start to go numb, so tight was gripping the hilt of his sword.

And then there was a great sliding and scuffling sound that made Bilbo's heart leap into his throat, and a moment later Fili dropped into the shelter, panting heavily. His skin was too pale, and one side of his face was dark with blood dried and drying, but his eyes were clear and he smiled wanly when he saw Bilbo and Kili.

“I managed to lose them among the rocks,” he said hoarsely. “Miles from here.”

Bilbo dropped his sword with a clatter and dropped to his knees, reaching towards Fili's head. “You are hurt, master dwarf,” he said.

“Just a graze,” Fili said. “An arrow caught me, but it is nothing serious.”

“I would say that sounds very serious indeed!” said Bilbo, but Fili wasn't looking at him, gazing instead past him at Kili.

“There you are, my brother,” he said, the words slightly slurred. “I missed you.” 

And then he listed alarmingly to one side, his eyes rolling up into his head, and Bilbo barely caught him before he hit the floor.

“Fili!” Bilbo called, righting the young dwarf and setting him against the wall, then gently slapping his cheek. “Come now, lad, wake up! I do not know how to help you, you must wake up!” He felt panic begin to squeeze at his heart, and he sat back on his heels, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

“Hobbit,” said Kili from where he still sat by the wall, “I help?”

Bilbo glanced back to see the little dwarf watching him, face troubled. “I don't know what you can do,” he said. They were lost in the empty lands, miles and miles from Erebor, with orcs out there somewhere and no hope of carrying Fili -- for even if Kili could manage it for a while, he certainly couldn't carry him all the way back to Erebor, even if Bilbo was sure that they would get a sympathetic reaction when they arrived -- and Bilbo knew almost nothing about healing and had no idea whether Fili had been right or not when he said his wound wasn't serious. Given that the young dwarf was now unconscious, though, it seemed reasonably likely that he had been underestimating its severity.

“I help,” Kili insisted, and Bilbo groaned.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Help if you can.”

Kili scrambled across the shelter in a moment, and settled by Fili's side, touching his head with gentle fingers. He scraped away some of the dried blood from Fili's temple, and examined the red gash that was revealed beneath it, blood still oozing from it in a thin trickle. Then, to Bilbo's amazement, he leaned forward and licked the wound.

“Kili!” Bilbo cried, suddenly remembering with horror the time that Kili had suggested eating the dead. But Fili was not dead, and in any case, surely he wouldn't--

But Kili was sitting back, a thoughtful look on his face, and a moment later he spat Fili's blood to the floor of the shelter. “Not _eitur_ ,” he said. “Is good.”

“What?” Bilbo said. “What is _eitur_?”

Kili was once more engaged in examining Fili's head. “Is bad,” he said. “Bad water. Orcs shoot, orcs knife. Put bad water knife, bad water shoot. Shoot not kill, _eitur_ kill.”

Bilbo found this all rather hard to decipher, and he stared at Kili until Kili glanced back at him and frowned.

“Bad water,” he said again. “Eat bad water, die. Bad water in blood, die. _Eitur_ is bad water.”

“Poison,” Bilbo said. “Oh! You think Fili has been poisoned!”

“No,” Kili said, rather impatiently. “Not poiser. Is not bad.” He scrubbed at Fili's temple with the heel of his hand until the wound was entirely free of dried blood, and then started licking it again, more thoroughly this time. Bilbo just watched, feeling entirely out of his depth, until Kili sat back, seeming satisfied.

“Is not bad,” he said again. “Fili not die. Only sleep.”

“How -- how do you know?” Bilbo asked.

Kili glanced at him. “Orc hurt,” he said, pointing to Fili's head. “I know orc hurt. See many.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo. He felt suddenly quite exhausted, and had not even the energy to be surprised at the revelation of this new side to Kili's character. “Well, that is good,” he said finally.

“Yes, good,” said Kili. “I not want Fili die.”

And he patted his brother's arm, and then sat back and watched him as he slept on.

\----

Bilbo fell asleep himself, feeling quite worn to pieces after the events of the afternoon, and when he woke, the shadows were beginning to lengthen, and Fili was still unconscious, but Kili was alert, straight-backed and wide-eyed, staring up through the entrance to the shelter. Bilbo was about to ask him what the matter was when he heard a harsh cry in the distance -- but not distant enough, not at all -- and felt his heart speed up in his chest.

“Kili?” he whispered.

Kili glanced over at him, his mouth tight.

“Orcs come back,” he said.

“Keep quiet,” Bilbo said. “Perhaps they will not find us.” Their trail was hours cold by now, after all, and if they were lucky it might even have rained and washed their scent away.

They were not lucky. A few moments later, the cry came again, closer this time, and then someone shouted something in Black Speech. Kili's eyes widened further.

“They, they.” He shook his head and tapped his nose. “ _Skûmutizishu_ ,” he said. “They _skûmutizishu_.”

“They can smell us,” Bilbo whispered, his heart sinking.

Kili did not reply, staring intently up through the entrance. Bilbo drew his sword again, though he knew the orcs would not be able to come in. But that would not save them -- there was nothing to stop the orcs setting a fire in the entrance and suffocating them, or simply waiting outside until they died of hunger or thirst. Bilbo could see nothing but despair in the future, and they could not even run, for they could not leave Fili and they could not carry him.

Kili was half-crouched, now, and Bilbo could see that he had begun to shake, his fingers curling around his brother's arm as he stared at the little wedge of sky that was visible through the rocks. Bilbo scrambled towards him, but froze when another cry sounded outside, much closer this time. Oh, it was more than anyone could be expected to bear, to wait like this for the end, after everything they had been through together! If he had been given the choice again, Bilbo would gladly have waited in the mountain and never given away the Arkenstone, for if he had done so, maybe they would still have had a chance, but now there was nothing at all they could do.

“Kili,” he whispered. “I am sorry, my lad. I have caused all this, and I am so sorry.”

Kili gave him a wide-eyed look, his mouth drawn tight in terror. And then, without a word or any warning whatsoever, he launched himself to his feet, scrambling up through the narrow entranceway.

“Kili!” Bilbo cried in horror, darting forward, but by the time he managed to pull himself up so he could thrust his head through the crack in the rocks, Kili was already some distance away, and running hard. He did not look back at Bilbo's cry, and Bilbo let himself sink back into the shelter and closed his eyes in despair. He could hardly blame the little dwarf for running, not when the alternative was to fall once again prey to the brutes that had tortured him for so many years. And perhaps -- perhaps Kili had never really understood what _friend_ and _brother_ meant. After all, twenty-five years was a great deal longer than two months, and it had been asking a lot. Too much.

All this Bilbo knew, and yet it did not prevent his feeling a great sense of betrayal.

“But perhaps your brother will survive,” he whispered to Fili. Alone in the empty lands, with no-one to remind him that he was a dwarf and not a _snaga_. Perhaps he would survive, but Bilbo was not sure that it was something to wish for.

But another cry had him on his feet again, for he knew the voice, and he was scrambling up to look through the entrance. To his amazement, he saw that Kili now stood atop one of the low hillocks opposite the rocks that sheltered Bilbo and Fili, and he was shouting something that Bilbo did not understand. A moment later, he broke into a run, and Bilbo heard an answering cry from his left, and saw to his horror a great warg emerge from a gap between two rocky tors, the orc astride its back baying in bloodlust as it sighted Kili's retreating back. 

“No,” Bilbo groaned softly. “Oh, no, Kili, no.” 

But Kili was already out of sight, and the warg bounded after him. Bilbo glanced quickly down at Fili, but the young dwarf slept on, and there was nothing Bilbo could do for him. No, that was not the truth: there was one thing he could do.

Bilbo slipped on his ring and pulled himself out of the shelter, running after the warg as fast as his little hobbit legs could carry him.

\----

There had been many times on his long journey with the dwarves that Bilbo had wished for longer legs, but none so fervently as now, when he found himself swiftly outpaced by the warg, and then by the others, too, which followed on the crests of hillocks and rocky tors to Bilbo's right and left. If they smelled Bilbo, they did not seem to care, focussed on the prey ahead of them, and Bilbo watched them overtake him as he sprinted onward, heart pounding and breath burning in his chest, and knew that fast as he was, there was no way that Kili could win this race.

And then there came a cry of victory up ahead, and Bilbo stumbled and almost stopped, before catching himself and putting on a further burst of speed, though he had not known he had such a thing in him. He barrelled through the gap between two tors and almost fell over a long, low rock that lay prone in the grass before him. Up ahead -- only forty paces away -- the orcs were gathered, dismounted from their wargs now, and laughing roughly as one of them stooped and grabbed something that lay on the ground. Bilbo sank to his knees in horror when he saw that it was Kili.

The orc said something and lifted Kili easily from the ground by one wrist, dangling him for the others to see. He pointed at the manacle, and the others laughed and snarled in Black Speech, of which Bilbo only caught the words _khozd shrakhun_ and _snaga_. Kili had his head bowed and his eyes downcast, and he dangled limply from his wrist as though he were not alive at all, though it must have been most painful.

A moment later, the orcs that held Kili dropped him in a heap on the ground, and one of the others pinned him with one knee and set about tying his wrists. Kili lay in the grass without moving, and the other orcs laughed mockingly, one of them spitting in Kili's face. They had a short conversation, one of them pointing back the way they had come and another -- the one who had held Kili, who was the tallest and Bilbo thought might be the leader -- snarling something back and backhanding the pointing orc across the face. Cowed, this orc reached down and pulled Kili to his feet, snarling something at him and kicking him in the back of the knee. Kili grunted, falling to one knee but not raising his head or showing any sign of protest, and the orc grinned a twisted grin and turned back to the conversation.

If Bilbo had felt helpless in the shelter, waiting for the orcs to fall upon them, he felt even more so now. He had his magic ring, and his little sword, and yet there were five orcs and five wargs, and he could not hope to kill them all before one of them killed him or Kili, or more likely both. But he could not let the little dwarf suffer in silence, thinking he had been abandoned, and so he crouched behind the long, low rock and found a pebble taking careful aim and slinging it at Kili. He missed, but the second one hit the target, and Kili's head rose just a fraction, his eyes peering out from under his hair. Bilbo swallowed and -- after checking to see that the other orcs were occupied with their discussion -- slipped off his ring.

Kili's eyes widened as he caught sight of Bilbo, and he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Bilbo shook his head back, and then raised his hands, trying desperately to remember the little _iglishmêk_ he had learned.

 _Not go_ , he signed. _Help_. He knew he would have to go back and find Fili, for the only thing that would happen if he took on the orcs on his own was that he would die, but he could not leave without some kind of reassurance.

Kili blinked, and then shifted slightly, half-turning so his back was to Bilbo. For a moment, Bilbo didn't understand, but then he saw the little dwarf's fingers moving, the signs a little garbled by the fact that his wrists were bound, and he understood.

 _Tell brother_ , Kili's hands said. _Tell dwarves. Orc_ \-- and here he made two signs that Bilbo did not recognise -- _go two_ \-- and another unrecognisable sign. He glanced over his shoulder at Bilbo, and Bilbo frantically shook his head.

 _Not understand_ , he signed. _Again_.

Kili repeated the message, fingers trembling and further distorting the words, and Bilbo recognised the same signs as before and not the three strange ones. But he knew enough of the way words were formed in _iglishmêk_ to be able to see how to make them, and he quickly signed the message back to Kili. Kili watched carefully, and then made two of the three strange signs again, and Bilbo repeated them.

 _Good_ , Kili signed. _Tell brother_. And he made the sign for emphasis twice.

 _I not go_ , signed Bilbo. _Help_.

And then the leader of the orcs said something in a deep, commanding snarl, and mounted his warg, and a moment later the others were mounting, too. Bilbo almost burst forth from his hiding place then, but the small part of him that was still rational kept him crouching there, watching in horror as the pointing orc grabbed Kili by the elbow and flung him over the neck of his warg. The little dwarf raised his head slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on Bilbo, and Bilbo signed _help_ over and over again, though he did not know whether it was a reassurance or a plea.

Then the wargs leaped forward, heading north, and Bilbo stumbled to his feet, not caring any more whether they saw him. But whether they did or not, they did not turn back, and in moments they were hundreds of paces away and dwindling, moving faster than even a running elf could hope to follow. They were gone, and Kili was gone with them.

“No,” Bilbo whispered. “Please, no.”

But there was no-one to hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention oh dear?


	33. Chapter 33

When Bilbo half-fell into the little shelter between the rocks, barely able to see through the tears that blurred his vision, Fili was stirring and muttering something. Bilbo grasped him by the shoulders with fingers that felt cold and numb, and shook him as vigorously as he was able, which was much less than usual, for he felt quite without strength.

“Fili, wake up,” he said. “You must wake up!”

Fili groaned, and his eyelids fluttered, then slid half-open.

“Mr. Baggins,” he mumbled, half-raising a hand to his temple and wincing. Then his eyes focussed on Bilbo and he sat up a little straighter, grimacing and gripping tight to Bilbo's arm. “Are you ill?” he said. “You look dreadful.”

“Fili,” Bilbo said. “Oh, Master Fili!” But he could find no words to speak further, and Fili looked concerned, his gaze roving round the shelter and coming back to Bilbo.

“Where is Kili?” he asked. Bilbo gaped at him, but could not speak, and now Fili looked troubled indeed. “Mr. Baggins?” he said. “Where is my brother?”

“Taken,” Bilbo choked out, and Fili's eyes focussed on him sharply. “He's been taken by the orcs.”

For a moment, Fili said nothing at all, frowning at Bilbo as if he had not understood what he said. “What?” he said finally.

“Fili--” Bilbo started, but Fili's hands had come up to grasp him by the shirt-front, his fingers curling into fists, though he did not shake Bilbo. 

“No,” Fili said. “No, no, you must be mistaken.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Bilbo whispered. “I am so sorry.”

“No,” Fili said again, and his hands began to tremble against Bilbo's chest. “No, it is a dream. It cannot be happening. This cannot be happening, not again.”

“Fili,” Bilbo said miserably, reaching out to grip the young dwarf's shoulder, but Fili jerked back, abruptly letting go of Bilbo and scrambling backwards, shaking his head.

“No, no, no,” he moaned. “Mahal, no. It cannot be.” He jumped to his feet, listing alarmingly to one side as he stooped to avoid cracking his head on the rocky overhang. “Kili!” he cried, going to the entrance and struggling up through it. “Kili, my brother, where are you?”

Bilbo followed swiftly, for although the orcs were long gone, there was no saying what else might be out there, and he could not allow Fili to put himself in danger, not after what had just happened.

“Fili,” he said, tugging on the young dwarf's coat. “Do not shout! Your brother cannot hear you, he is gone I tell you.”

“He is not gone!” Fili cried, rounding on Bilbo, and Bilbo fell back a step, for Fili's face was bloodless and his eyes were stretched wide in horror. “He cannot be gone, Mr. Baggins! He cannot be gone, I will not believe it!”

“You must,” Bilbo said helplessly. “You must believe it, because it is true, and believing otherwise will help no-one at all, least of all Kili.”

Fili's mouth opened then, but all he did was gape, as if he could not get enough air. Bilbo reached out again for him, but Fili stumbled a step back, shaking his head. 

“Then we will--” he said, and seemed to lose control of his own tongue, making a garbled noise and coughing harshly. “We will follow,” he said, “we will catch them, Mr. Baggins, where did they go? Where did they take my brother?” And he looked around frantically as if the orcs were only hiding behind the nearest rock.

“It is too late,” Bilbo said, wringing his hands. “They are too fast, we will never catch them, and I do not know where they were going.”

“Too late,” Fili repeated, as if he could not understand the words, and then his legs seemed to simply give out, and he sat down hard on the springy turf and put his head in his hands. “Forgive me, oh forgive me, I have lost him again. I have lost my brother again.”

Neither of them spoke for a time -- and Bilbo could not have said how long it was, only that when it was over his hands were sore and scraped from being wrung together so long, and his eyes were swollen from weeping. Bilbo stared at Fili and Fili held his head in his hands and pulled at his hair, as if he would tear it out by the roots. But then, through the fog that despair had brought to Bilbo's thoughts, he remembered that there was something else, and he stumbled forwards and sank to his knees in front of Fili.

“Fili,” he whispered. “Master Fili, your brother gave me a message for you.”

Fili made no answer, and Bilbo reached forward and shook him by the arm.

“Master Fili,” he said urgently.

Fili raised his head, then, and Bilbo was shocked at the change in him, for he seemed to have aged a score of years in as many minutes, and although he did not weep, his eyes were bloodshot.

“My brother is gone,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“Gone, perhaps,” Bilbo said. “But not dead, my lad. Not dead until we see him fall with our own eyes. I know you will not make that mistake again.”

Fili's mouth hung open, and Bilbo patted him and then raised his hands.

“Here,” he said, and then he made the signs that Kili had showed him, slowly and carefully, hoping against hope that in the gestures he did not know lay the key to finding Kili again. 

Fili blinked at him, and Bilbo signed the message again and waited expectantly.

“Kili told this to you?” Fili said. 

Bilbo nodded. “I was -- I could see him, but I could not get to him, and he could not speak freely,” he said. He remembered suddenly that he was not supposed to be using _iglishmêk_ , but Fili did not seem to care in the least, and Bilbo had never really cared in the first place. “What does it mean?”

“It is--” Fili shook his head. “The words are strange. They are not quite right.”

“His hands were bound when he was signing,” Bilbo said, and Fili's mouth snapped shut, his lips pressed grimly together.

“Again,” he growled, and Bilbo signed again.

“Orcs,” Fili said. “North. Go two days mountain. What is the second word?”

Bilbo signed the second word again, and Fili raised his own hands and signed something back.

“Could it be that?” he asked.

“Yes!” Bilbo said. “Yes, of course, I have remembered it wrong.” Fili's face grew even grimmer, if that were at all possible, and Bilbo felt yet more worry add itself to the sickening swirl of apprehension that churned in his gut. “What does it mean?” he asked.

“Army,” Fili said. “He says there is an army of orcs two days' march north of the mountain.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, and was amazed to find that he could be even more frightened than previously. “He must -- he must have overheard them talking about it. They were speaking Black Speech, I could understand almost nothing.”

Fili nodded. “They must have been a scouting party,” he said. “The orcs march on the mountain. They think to take it while it is defended by only a few dwarves and no dragon.”

“Does everybody want this mountain of yours?” Bilbo asked faintly.

“So it seems,” Fili muttered. “But no-one wants it as we do.”

“Then what--” Bilbo said, and then was forced to clear his throat as his voice came out in a rather shrill squeak, “--what should we do? If they have taken Kili back to the army--” And here he stopped, for he dared not voice the apprehensions that gnawed at his poor overwrought mind, in case that might somehow make them true.

Fili stood up, though he staggered a little and his face was almost ashen. For a moment, he stood, staring northwards as if he might somehow be able to see the army, and his brother with them. Then his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“We must tell my uncle,” he said. 

“Your uncle?” Bilbo cried. “Your uncle who tried to imprison me and your brother? Your uncle who has lost his wits and accuses those who care for him most?”

“At least if he was in prison in Erebor, I would know that he was not dead!” Fili cried, eyes flashing. “My uncle has fought for the mountain every day of his life, and now he stands at bay, and unaware that his foulest foe bears down on him and thinks to take his kingdom and his life, has already stolen away his kinsman. Would you have me go instead to the men? Or the elves?”

“What about Dain?” Bilbo said.

Fili nodded. “Dain will fight with us, do not doubt it,” he said. “But it is for my uncle to call for his aid.”

“And if he imprisons us?” Bilbo asked. “Or worse?”

“He will not,” Fili said. “The treasure has cast a shadow on his mind, but he will not let Kili be lost to us, not again.”

He sounded quite convinced, and Bilbo wished with all his heart to believe him, but when there was so much at stake, he could hardly ignore the nagging worry in his mind. “And if he does?” he asked. “If he lets Kili go in favour of the gold?”

Fili shook his head. “Then he is no uncle of mine,” he said.

Bilbo was not at all pleased with this plan, but he saw that Fili would not be swayed, and he dared not let the young dwarf go back to the mountain alone for fear of what might happen to him -- though what he might be able to do to prevent it, a scared little hobbit against a mad dwarf king, he had no idea -- so he nodded his head and tried to ignore the uneasiness in his gut. “All right,” he said. “All right, we will tell your uncle. But you must be careful. Fili, you must be very careful.”

“And you, too, my dear friend,” Fili said. “And when we have told him, whatever he might say, I will go at once northwards and I will find my brother, though I have to go against an army all alone.”

Bilbo put a hand on his arm. “You won't be alone,” he said.

And then Fili swept him up onto his back and began without delay to run towards the mountain.

\----

They reached the ledge that stood outside the rocky bay as the trailing edge of the sun sank finally below the horizon, and Bilbo could hardly believe that it had only been yesterday morning that they had scrambled over the walls and fled from Erebor. Then, they had been afraid of Thorin's rage and his madness. Now, there was so much more and so much worse to fear.

Fili set him down carefully and then scaled the wall, reaching down to pull Bilbo up behind him. The secret door swung open as they began to climb down, and Dwalin stood in the doorway, watching them with a troubled frown. He did not speak, though, until both stood once more on firm ground.

“You should not have come back, laddie,” he said. “I have orders to imprison you on sight.”

“I must see Thorin,” Fili said. His face was shadowed in the fading light, but his voice was ragged with strain.

“You're in no position to be making demands,” Dwalin said, but where there should have been a threat in his voice, there was only regret, and he made no move to take hold of either of them. He glanced now at Bilbo, and a flash of anger crossed his face, but then he looked back at Fili and it was gone, replaced with concern.

“Where's Kili?” he asked.

Fili opened his mouth, but only a choked, nonsensical sound emerged, and Bilbo quickly spoke up.

“The orcs have taken him,” he said.

At that, Dwalin's expression grew disbelieving, and then his eyebrows drew down and his deep-set eyes glittered with fury.

“I must see my uncle,” Fili said again.

“Aye, laddie,” Dwalin growled. “That you must.”

\----

They found Thorin and much of the rest of the company gathered in a small chamber that led off from the throne room. The door was hidden behind the throne, and had it not been for Dwalin's instruction, Bilbo doubted that either of them would have found it, and perhaps they would have wandered the echoing emptiness of the mountain all night. Dwarves and their secrets! Even when they were more alone than a dragon in his den, they still sought to hide themselves away from imagined spies.

Before they stepped through the door, Bilbo laid a hand on Fili's arm. “It is still not too late,” he said. “We could go to Bard.”

Fili shook his head. “He is the King Under the Mountain,” he said. “And -- and he is Kili's uncle, too.”

Bilbo took a deep breath. “Well, if we must, then,” he said, and pushed open the door.

The dwarves inside lifted their heads in surprise -- for surely they could have been expecting no visitors -- and each seemed dumbstruck by the appearance of Fili and Bilbo in the doorway. Each, that is, but Thorin, who stood by a great stone table with one forefinger still pointed at the map that had brought them all the way there and made an expression of such unbridled fury that Bilbo had to fight with himself not to simply turn tail and run for the balcony and the relative safety of the armies of men and elves.

“You!” Thorin cried, and his bulging eyes were afire with madness. “How dare you return after what you have done!”

Bilbo glanced up at Fili, but he seemed turned to stone, his mouth gaping at the sight of his uncle. Bilbo raised his hands, palms outwards, and made what he hoped was a conciliatory expression, although in truth he felt a mixture of fear and extreme irritation and neither of those emotions particularly lent itself to reconciliation.

“Thorin--” he started, but Thorin was already striding towards him with what Bilbo fervently hoped was not murder on his face. 

“Be still, halfling!” he bellowed. “Was it not enough for you to corrupt one of my nephews? Will you steal everything of value that I own?”

Bilbo did take a step back, now, but in the end he did not need to, for Fili was suddenly striding forward to meet his uncle, and he struck Thorin in the centre of his chest with the palm of his hand.

“No,” he said, and although his voice was low, it seemed to draw all the attention in the room. “No, uncle, it is you who must be still.”

Thorin's eyes bulged further in disbelief. “You dare speak thus to me?” he asked.

“Do not ask me if I dare,” Fili said, his voice beginning to rise. “Do not ask me, for I may ask you in return. How dare you, uncle, how _dare_ you speak thus to Mr. Baggins, when no-one would have stolen Kili had it not been for you? It is you who has lost him, uncle, it is you that drove him away and now he is gone, now he is truly stolen away and you, _you_ seek to blame the blameless and blind yourself to your own guilt!”

Thorin glowered at his nephew. “I do not understand you, boy,” he said. “Who has stolen your brother, if not the halfling?”

“Orcs!” Fili cried, and now he threw his hands up in despair. “Orcs, orcs, they have taken my brother, and I cannot get him back! I cannot get him back!”

A shocked silence settled over the room, and even Thorin did not speak for a moment, though the madness still shone in his eyes. Then he scowled at Bilbo.

“Another trick,” he said. “Do not think I will so easily be fooled again.”

“Do you think I would seek to trick you with this?” Fili asked. “With this, of all things?”

Thorin shook his head, then, but his rage seemed to have slipped away for the most part, replaced with disbelief. “No,” he said. “How can it be? How could such a thing happen again?”

“Because of us!” Fili cried, and he seemed now on the verge of hysteria. “We had him, we had him in our arms and we did not grip tight enough and now he is gone. I swore, Mahal forgive me, I swore to him that they would never touch him again, and now I am forsworn. Now I am forsworn, o my brother.” His voice faded to a whisper at this last, and Bilbo crept forward, then, laying a gentle hand on Fili's arm. 

“It is not your fault, Master Fili,” he said.

“Not mine alone,” Fili said, raising hard eyes to his uncle. Thorin had grown deathly pale, and he seemed to search his nephew's face as if trying to find some sign that what he said was not the truth. But it was the truth, no matter how much all of them might wish otherwise. “It was not I who let him slip through my fingers for the sake of gold and jewels,” Fili said. “But mistake me not, uncle, I would give all the gold, and the Arkenstone, aye, and the mountain itself, to have my brother back with me now.” He bowed his head, then, covering his eyes with one hand. “I only want my brother back,” he whispered.

Thorin still did not speak, and he stood still as a statue, but a growing horror was on his face, as if at last he could find no alternative but to face the truth of his nephew's words. Fili stood with his head bowed, and a dreadful hush sank over them all, pressing down with a great weight of gloom.

And then Balin stepped forth, seeming older even than usual, his face long with sorrow. “Ori,” he said, “will you take Fili and give him to drink. The laddie's been running for days, by the looks of him.”

Ori stepped quickly forward and put an arm around Fili's shoulders, and Fili allowed himself to be led away without looking up nor yet taking the hand from his eyes. Balin watched him go and then sighed a deep sigh and turned back to Thorin.

“Well?” he said. “What do you say?”

Thorin made no reply, but Bilbo suddenly remembered that it was not to tell Thorin about Kili that they had come here. “Mr. Balin!” he said. “I'm afraid there is more bad news.”

Balin turned his eyes on him then. “Mr. Baggins,” he said, “I dread to imagine what could be worse than what we have already heard.”

“There is an army,” Bilbo said. “Orcs, and wargs too, I suppose. They are two days' march north of Erebor, and they are coming for the mountain.”

“An army?” Balin asked, and then Thorin seemed suddenly to come to himself, glaring down at Bilbo, but although Bilbo's heart quailed a little within him, he saw to his great surprise that the glitter of the king's eyes had abated a great deal, and there seemed more of rationality in them than Bilbo had seen for many days.

“Saw you this army?” Thorin asked brusquely.

“No,” Bilbo said. “I was told about it.”

“By whom?” Thorin asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “I hardly think the ravens would talk to one such as you.”

Well, that really was the end of it! Bilbo had had quite enough of being doubted by Thorin, especially after everything that had happened, and now he drew himself up to his full height and forgot all about his fear of being imprisoned or even thrown from the balcony to die on the rocks below.

“Well, if you must know,” he snapped, “your poor nephew told me. He overheard the Black Speech and then he told me in your precious _iglishmêk_. There! Now will you disbelieve the news because of the way in which it has come to you?”

Thorin's eyes flashed, but the light in them was of anger, not madness, and Bilbo stood boldly and did not let himself be cowed, though Balin cast him a warning glance. 

“You--” the king said, but then he paused and clenched his jaw. “Show me what he told you,” he ground out.

That was rather further than Bilbo had imagined this going, and he was a little reluctant to actually use _iglishmêk_ in Thorin's presence, but he forced himself not to hesitate as he raised his hands and repeated Kili's message, being sure to make the correct sign for _army_ this time. Thorin's scowl deepened, but he focussed on Bilbo's hands, and when the message was complete, he stood a moment with a furious expression on his face, and then raised his eyes to Bilbo's.

“Your form is atrocious,” he said.

“Better than your manners,” snapped Bilbo, which perhaps might have been an unnecessary provocation, but one can hardly expect even a hobbit to keep his temper all the time, especially when faced with a dwarf who never kept his at all.

Thorin eyed him a moment, then he swept back over to the stone table, gesturing imperiously for Bilbo to follow. Bilbo exchanged a quick glance with Balin, and then hurried over. Thorin was peering down at the map.

“Where were you when -- when this happened?” he said. “Can you point to it?”

Bilbo eyed the map. They had come out of the secret door on the western side of the mountain and travelled north and east from there, but Bilbo had little idea of how many leagues they had covered, for he had spent most of it being jolted around on dwarvish backs. He thought perhaps they had been about halfway between the mountain and the range of hills that lay behind, and he pointed to approximately this point on the map.

“Perhaps here,” he said. “I do not know.”

Thorin bent over the map, and Balin and Oin with him, and they did not speak until Thorin pointed at the mountain range that ran to the north and west of Erebor.

“They have come from the Grey Mountains,” he said, “for there are orcs there aplenty. They seek to come out of the hills close enough to the mountain that we have no time to rally against them. That is why they are north, and not west.”

“Aye,” Balin said, “and if once we let them come out onto the plain, we will face a hard fight indeed.”

“It will be a hard fight, whatever we do,” Thorin said. “But if we can catch them while they are still in the hills, we may have surprise on our side. And if we catch them early, perhaps my nephew--” But here he stopped and looked suddenly stricken, and Balin laid a hand on his shoulder.

“We will go tonight,” he said. “But we will not catch them in time without ponies.”

Bilbo had been listening to these plans which seemed to involve twelve dwarves taking on an army of orcs with some alarm, but despite his reservations, he saw now a way he might make himself useful, and he stepped quickly forward.

“Bard will give us ponies!” he said. “I am sure he will, if I ask him.”

“You wish me to send you to Bard?” Thorin said, glowering at him. “And how am I to know that you will not simply make off like the thief in the night you are?” 

“Oh, for goodness' sake!” Bilbo cried. “If I had wanted to desert you I would have done it when I took them the Arkenstone! I have come back twice now to face your wrath, Thorin Oakenshield, and I do not see that I deserve to be thought a traitor when I have proved so many times that I stand with you and your dratted dwarves, even though most of the time you make me wish I didn't!”

Thorin looked rather taken aback by this, and the dim glitter that still sparked in his eyes seemed to fade a little further. He nodded stiffly.

“Then ask,” he said. “The fastest ponies he can supply, as soon as possible, for I would catch Dain by midnight.”

Bilbo was rather relieved to hear that Thorin was planning to take reinforcements with him, and he nodded quickly and turned to go, only to be stopped by Balin's voice.

“And if Bard should ask for payment?” he said, looking cautiously at Thorin. “What should the hobbit say then?”

Thorin stood silent, and all eyes were upon him. Bilbo found himself holding his breath.

Then Thorin turned to look at Bilbo, and Bilbo saw that his eyes were clear. “If he should ask for payment,” he said, “tell him he may have whatever he desires.”

Bilbo let go of his breath, then, and it seemed to him that all the other dwarves did likewise. 

“I will,” he said, and then turned to hurry towards the balcony and the wide world that lay beyond.


	34. Chapter 34

When Bilbo climbed down from the great wall the dwarves had built across the gate for the second time, he became rather dizzy, not just for dangling so high in the air in a very unhobbitlike fashion, but rather because of the sense of how quickly everything was changing, as if, after so many weeks and months of long, slow travellling, events were now gathering to pour forth in a great rush. Had it truly been only two nights earlier that he had last made this climb, with the Arkenstone in his pocket and nothing but a sense of deep foreboding spurring him on? Then he had thought that he was in a difficult situation indeed, but now everything seemed ten times worse, and Bilbo could not at all be sure that it was not his own actions that had made them so. But he was a practical fellow at heart, and only given to dwelling on regrets and sorrows when there was nothing else to do, and even then not for very long (which is why, on the whole hobbits are much happier than dwarves), and so he put the issue of his own guilt or innocence from his mind. He could not do the same, however, for the fears that assailed him. The fear of riding to face the orc army was bad enough, of course, but it was not the worst of them, for although it loomed on the horizon like a stormcloud, it was still in the future. But the fear of what might be happening to Kili at that moment, and the fear of what state he might be in when they found him -- indeed, the terrible fear that they might never find him at all -- these were quite enough by themselves to occupy every part of Bilbo's mind and heart and leave no space for any thoughts of anger or remorse.

But then he found himself in the elven camp again, and there was no time for anything other than to try and find Bard. He slipped to the tent where last he had seen him, but it was empty and dark, and now Bilbo found himself in some difficulty. For he did not want to take off his ring and reveal himself, even though he knew he was most probably accounted friend to all those in the camp because of his delivery of the Arkenstone. He did not trust the men of Lake-Town, save Bard himself, and he certainly did not trust the elves of Mirkwood. But as he stood there in some indecision, he heard a voice that he recognised, and he made swiftly towards it, for there was at least one other person in this camp who he trusted, if not entirely, at least partly.

It was Tauriel, of course, and she stood in conversation with a tall elf with brown hair. But moments later, this unknown elf took his leave, and Tauriel stood alone and rather pensive. It was then that Bilbo took his chance and drew off his ring.

“Mistress Tauriel,” he said in a low voice, and she started and looked down at him.

“Mr. Underhill!” she said, looking quite astonished. “I did not think to see you again!”

“Well,” Bilbo said, “here I am! But didn't you hear that I gave the Arkenstone to Bard?”

“I heard that it was a hobbit that had done so, certainly,” she said, “and I though it was you at first. But then Bard told us that it was a hobbit by the name of Mr. Baggins.”

“Ah,” Bilbo said. “Well, er, yes. I mean, I certainly have been known by that name.”

Tauriel smiled, then, and crouched down. “Then I am doubly glad, little one,” she said. “For Bard has been greatly worried for the fate of Mr. Baggins since he disappeared yesterday morning, and I have been worried for the fate of Mr. Underhill since he seemed no longer to be travelling with the dwarves. And now it seems that both are faring well enough, though looking quite exhausted and in need of some kind words, perhaps.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, “there can never be too many kind words, of course, but it is fierce actions that I am in need of now, mistress elf. For my friend has been kidnapped by orcs, and I come to seek assistance in saving his life.”

“Your friend?” Tauriel asked. “Not the little dwarf-friend with the brother who loved him so dearly?”

“The same,” said Bilbo.

Tauriel looked very grave. “What is it you would have me do?” she asked. 

“Could you show me where Bard is, please?” Bilbo asked. “I must ask a favour of him.”

“That is a small request indeed,” Tauriel said, “and I will grant it gladly. But if you should need aught else, Mr. Underhill, do not be afraid to ask, for your friend may have been our prisoner, but you have the gratitude of the king for what you have done, and he will not deny you, I think.”

Bilbo nodded, though he had no desire to ask the elf king for anything, and then Tauriel led him swiftly through the dark camp to another tent, larger and more richly appointed than Bard's, from which voices spilled into the cool night air. Tauriel gestured at the tent, and Bilbo drew a breath and was about to step through when he was prevented by someone coming out. Indeed, this someone almost tripped over him, and only looked down when he made a rather undignified squeak. But then the newcomer's eyes widened and his face split into a broad grin.

“My dear Bilbo!” cried Gandalf (for it was he). “You are indeed quite the most unexpected of hobbits!”

“Gandalf!” Bilbo felt suddenly that maybe things were not so bleak as they seemed, for although he had no real reason to think that Gandalf could solve any more problems than he created -- after all, it had been his idea that Bilbo should come on this ill-fated adventure to begin with -- there was something about the old wizard that was reassuring. “I am so glad to see you.”

“And I you,” Gandalf said. “I had thought you imprisoned or worse after that whole business yesterday morning.” He looked suddenly stern. “I did not think Thorin Oakenshield would be so easily swayed by the dragon-sickness,” he said, “or I would not have let you go back into the mountain with him.”

“Well, Thorin is a difficult customer, and no mistake,” Bilbo said, “but I think he is well again, now, or at least not nearly so mad as he has been.”

“Indeed!” Gandalf said. “Happy news, to be sure. And how have you rid him of this curse?”

“It was not my doing,” Bilbo said, suddenly feeling quite bleak again. “Or at least, not mostly. His nephew Kili has been taken by the orcs once more.”

Gandalf's face grew long with sorrow. “Ah, my dear Bilbo,” he said. “That is ill news indeed. I had thought that only a great shock might chase away the sickness from him, but I never would have wished it should take such a form.”

“Nor I,” Bilbo said. “But Gandalf, I must talk to Bard.”

“Then follow me, and you shall talk all you want,” Gandalf said, and he stepped back inside the tent, and Bilbo followed behind.

Bard stood in the centre of the tent, leaning over a trestle table and staring at the chart that lay spread out across it. Bilbo opened his mouth to greet him, but then shut it with a snap, for he saw that his grim-faced friend was not alone. Across the table from him stood the elf king, straight-backed and imperious, and both turned to greet Gandalf and then frowned as he stepped aside.

“Mr. Baggins!” said Bard, smiling a sombre smile. “I had feared you were lost!”

“Apparently everyone did,” Bilbo muttered. But it was the elf king he was paying the most attention to, for of course they had never met before, and being the object of his steely gaze was no more comfortable than Bilbo had imagined it might be. 

“So this is the little halfling who gave us the Arkenstone,” the elf king said, and he stepped forward until he stood before Bilbo, so that Bilbo had to crane his neck enormously to see his face. “I am glad to meet you at last. My name is Thranduil.”

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” Bilbo said rather stiffly, and gave a curt bow.

The elf king raised one delicate eyebrow. “Rather dwarvish, for a hobbit,” he said to Gandalf.

“And what is wrong with that, might I ask?” Bilbo snapped.

“Now, now,” Gandalf said quickly, laying a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. “We are all friends here, and Mr. Baggins has come to ask for aid.”

“You shall have whatever you need,” Bard said immediately. Thranduil did not speak, but he gave a nod that seemed to indicate his agreement with this sentiment.

“Then I ask for ponies,” Bilbo said. “Thirteen of them, and the fastest you have that can be supplied at short notice, for my friends and I wish to ride tonight.”

“Ponies for the dwarves?” Thranduil asked. “Do they flee the mountain?”

Bilbo stiffened. “They go on a mission of mercy,” he said. “And to save all our lives.”

“How is that?” Bard asked. “Are our lives in danger?”

“I'm afraid so,” Bilbo said then, realising that he had once again been forgetting the piece of news that was of most interest to those who did not know Kili. “There is an army of orcs marching through the hills to the north. They hope to take us all by surprise and overrun the mountain.”

All faces grew grim at this revelation, but Thranduil cocked his head thoughtfully on one side. “You are a strange little hobbit indeed,” he said. “First you have the Arkenstone and now you know more even than all our spies. How came you by this knowledge?”

“I have a friend who sacrificed his freedom and perhaps his life to give it to me,” Bilbo said sharply. “And he has the great advantage of being able to understand the Black Speech.”

At this, the elf king looked quite amazed. “You speak of the little orc-friend, do you not?” he said.

“Oh yes,” Bilbo said with a bitter laugh. “He is a great friend to the orcs, who even now languishes in their filthy camp and endures who knows what manner of torture, all for the sake of saving me and his brother from their clutches. He is a great friend to the orcs, who gave up everything to warn us that they were coming so that we might not be overrun. You might as well say that we are all friends to the orcs, if you would condemn him thus.”

Thranduil's amazement seemed unabated by this tirade, or in fact even increased. “But how can this be?” he asked. “I was told he had lost his wits and was barely more than an animal.”

Bilbo sucked in his breath, suddenly filled with a fury that took him quite by surprise, for hobbits, on the whole, are peaceable creatures not given to destructive passions. But Gandalf's hand squeezed his shoulder hard enough to hurt a little, and Bilbo reminded himself that time was of the essence and clenched his jaw tightly, breathing in two or three times through his nose.

“Let us agree that you were wrong in your assessment,” Gandalf said in a conciliatory tone. “And let us instead discuss how we will proceed.”

“You will have your ponies within the hour,” Bard said, casting a troubled glance at the elf king, who still regarded Bilbo with a rather astonished expression. “And we will strike camp as quickly as we may and march behind you, for there is no sense in continuing this enmity when there are far greater foes on the horizon.” He gave Thranduil a hard stare. “I am sure the elves would agree,” he said. 

“Of course,” Thranduil said, though he still stared at Bilbo as if he was some strange kind of animal that did not look like anything he had seen before. “Orcs in Erebor would be a sore blow to all our peoples.”

Bilbo nodded, though he looked at Bard and not at all at Thranduil. “Thank you,” he said. “You have my gratitude.”

“No more than you have mine,” Bard said, with a low bow. “You are a remarkable creature, Bilbo Baggins.”

“A remarkable creature indeed,” Thranduil murmured, but Bilbo still ignored him.

“Thirteen ponies, then,” Bard said. “Look for them within the hour.”

“And a horse, if you please,” Gandalf put in. “I fear the one I rode here is quite worn out and not ready for a fast ride northwards.”

Bilbo felt a great surge of hope at this. “You will come with us?” he asked, and Gandalf smiled a sad smile.

“Of course, my dear hobbit,” he said. “I could hardly leave you alone with Thorin again, after all.”

“Thank Mahal,” Bilbo breathed without really thinking about what he was saying, and Gandalf raised his eyebrows.

“Rather dwarvish indeed,” he murmured. “Rather more dwarvish than I was expecting. But as you say, there is nothing wrong with that.” He nodded. “Come then,” he said. “I will see you in an hour.”

And at that, Bilbo nodded and slipped away.

\----

The news was greeted with subdued hope in the dwarvish camp. All seemed pale and strained, and Thorin paced furiously in the hidden council room, issuing orders for the collection of weapons and armour and glancing every few moments at the door as if he expected the orcs to burst through it at any minute. Fili had returned from wherever Ori had taken him, and now sat straight-backed on a bench against the wall, his hands gripping his knees so tightly that it must have been rather painful. Bilbo sat beside him and patted his arm.

“Are you quite well, master dwarf?” he said.

Fili turned haunted eyes on him. “No,” he said. “I am not well at all.”

Bilbo nodded, for there was little he could say that might improve matters. “Your brother survived twenty-five years with the orcs,” he said. “I'm sure he can survive a few days more. I am sure of it.”

Fili nodded, turning back to stare into the middle distance. “I hope you are right, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

After a while, Bilbo stood and wandered out into the throne room. Here he found Ori, who stood on the balcony staring out over the armies, which now seemed to be rousing themselves in preparation to march northwards. He looked quite, quite miserable.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said, and seemed almost ready to burst into tears. “I'm so sorry I didn't say anything when Thorin attacked you. It is no excuse, but he is my king, you see, and you did steal the Arkenstone.”

“Master Ori,” Bilbo said, “if we should survive whatever comes next, let us agree to forget all the mistakes we have made in the past.”

Ori opened his mouth as if to protest, but then he nodded, though he seemed hardly less unhappy.

“Do you think we will survive?” he said. “Any of us?”

“Well, of course, I cannot say,” Bilbo said. “But I do so want you to draw Kili a picture of me vanquishing an entire army of orcs, and so we shall certainly have to try our best so that I am not disappointed.”

Ori gave a slightly damp laugh at this. “After the way you spoke to Thorin, I believe you could vanquish all the orcs in Middle Earth single-handed,” he said.

“Let us hope so, master dwarf,” said Bilbo.

\----

Before the appointed hour was passed, the dwarves were prepared and shinning down the rope that led to the ground, with little more facility than Bilbo and a great deal more swearing, for dwarves are not natural climbers. They were somewhat reduced in number, for although all had wanted to come, it had been decided that Bombur and Dori should stay behind to guard the Great Gate and the secret door, so that if all failed there could be a last-ditch attempt to defend the mountain. The ponies already awaited them on the ground, as did Gandalf, already astride his great horse.

“Gandalf,” said Thorin gravely, and Gandalf gave him a curt nod.

“Thorin King Under the Mountain,” he said. “It is good to see you less of a fool than last time we spoke.”

Thorin raised his eyebrows at that, but he did not attempt to defend himself. “Aye,” he said, “though I wish it had not come at such a cost.”

“As do we all,” Gandalf said. “But you dwarves know the value of many things, and now you have learned the price of one more.”

“It is too high,” Thorin said. “Grievously high.”

“Perhaps you will remember that in future,” said Gandalf, though with something of kindness in his tone.

“I cannot forget,” Thorin said. “It is graven on my heart.”

And they spoke no more, but mounted their ponies and set off towards the north and the trouble that awaited them there.

\----

Bilbo could do little on the long, dark journey but concentrate on not falling off his pony, for they travelled at a great pace, their progress lit by Gandalf's staff, and the ground was uneven and treacherous. They had been travelling for perhaps four hours, and midnight was drawing near, when they saw ahead the watchfires of Dain's army, and soon they heard the alarm sounding ahead of them, and moments later they found themselves surrounded by armed dwarves looking quite unfriendly and demanding their business.

“I am Thorin Oakenshield,” Thorin cried imperiously. “I am King Under the Mountain, and I would speak with my cousin Dain.”

There was a great murmuring then among the strange dwarves, and a few minutes later the dwarves between them and the camp parted and bowed, and through their ranks strode a great, broad-shouldered dwarf with a red beard, shot through with grey, that came quite to his knees, and that he wore braided and tucked into his belt. He must have only roused from sleep moments before, but he was clear-eyed and alert, and he gave a shout to see Thorin.

“Cousin!” he cried. “It has been too many years.”

“Too many,indeed,” Thorin said, dismounting from his pony and engulfing his cousin in a fierce embrace. “And I am afraid I bring no good news.”

“Why have you left the mountain?” Dain asked. “Are we too late?”

“Not for that,” Thorin said. “But there are fouler things abroad in these lands than elves and men. Orcs are at your heels, barely a day behind you, and we must hurry if we are to catch them before they catch us.”

“Orcs?” Dain cried. “But we have heard nothing of them, and we came also from the north and have many of our people in those hills who told us nothing of the sort.”

“Is there a way they could have come without being detected?” Thorin asked, and Dain thought for a moment and then nodded.

“Aye,” he said. “If they come from the Grey Mountains, as indeed they must, there is a narrow defile that winds through the hills in the west and comes out not far from Erebor. It is beyond the reach of my people.”

“A defile,” Thorin said slowly. “And if we were to meet them before they came out from this defile?”

“We would have the advantage indeed,” Dain said, eyes flashing fiercely, “for they would only be able to attack a few at a time. Aye, the hills will run black with blood if we can reach them before they have a chance to spill onto the plain.” And he smiled a warlike smile.

Thorin's face remained grim, though, and Dain frowned at him.

“But did you think to confront an army with only a few dwarves?” he asked. “Brave and noble though your company is, without a doubt.” And here he looked with some confusion at Bilbo, who was of course clearly not a dwarf at all.

“We have another reason to ride thus urgently,” Thorin said then. “For the orcs have stolen away my nephew, and we must do all we can to take him back.”

“Your nephew?” Dain asked in some surprise. “But I had thought the dwarf who rides at your side was Fili, for he much resembles the little dwarfling I saw two score years ago in the Blue Mountains.”

“Aye, he is Fili,” Thorin said. “But I have two nephews.”

“Had, surely?” Dain asked. “I thought that the other was killed by orcs many years ago.”

“So did we,” Thorin said, and now his voice sank in gloom. “But it was not so. And now it seems history repeats itself, my cousin, for he is taken a second time.”

Dain's fierce face softened a little, then, the light of pity in his eyes. “That is ill luck indeed,” he said. “And I wonder if there is not some foul force that hates the line of Durin, for it seems that fortune never smiles on your kin.”

“Perhaps it is so,” Thorin said. “But we must do what we can to make our own fortune, though it may well destroy us, in the end. We ride this night, and hope to catch the orcs early tomorrow, for daylight is our only chance against them.”

Dain nodded then, drawing himself up. “We will follow within the hour, and be with you as soon after daybreak as we can,” he said. “And should we not meet again in the world, my cousin, then we will speak next in the halls of our fathers.”

Thorin gave a grave bow. “May your beard grow ever longer,” he said.

“Aye, and yours too,” Dain said, and then turned and strode to his camp, shouting orders to his dwarves to rouse themselves and make ready to move.

\----

When day broke chill and grey in the east, the hills to the north of Erebor were looming up ahead of their little company, looking ashen and broken against the sky and nothing at all like the rounded swells that Bilbo associated with the hills of his green little homeland in the west. It was a dreary sight, and did nothing to lift the mood of the dwarves, who had slept not at all and were weary indeed from their hard night's ride. They made a little camp, if such you could call a mere collection of gloomy dwarves huddled in the shelter of a rocky tor, and Thorin called Bilbo to him.

“I have need of your services,” he said, “and of your skills.”

A sharp reply formed on the tip of Bilbo's tongue, but he swallowed it down. He had not forgotten Thorin's behaviour, not in the slightest, and though he knew he had not been himself he could nonetheless not bring himself so easily to forgive him. But there were more urgent concerns than guilt and blame facing them now, and Bilbo stood tall and nodded.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

And so it was that he found himself creeping across the broken land towards the end of a steep-sided, narrow valley that seemed to plunge almost into darkness. He wore his ring, of course, but he felt greatly exposed nonetheless, and when he came close to the end of the valley and saw that the darkness he had seen was actually a great many bats, so numerous that they blocked out the sky, he felt himself almost unable to go any closer. He had faced many dangers in his journey, goblins and trolls and dragons and the stiff necks of both elves and dwarves, but an orc army was something new, and struck a chill into his little hobbit heart, stout though it was. But colder still in his chest was the knowledge that Kili lay somewhere in this valley, if indeed he still drew breath at all, and he forced himself onwards, not close enough that the orcs could smell him -- and luck was on their side for once, for the wind blew from the north -- but close enough that he could see them, ranks upon ranks, resting with their wargs and no doubt preparing for a great assault when evening fell. He scrambled a little way up the steep valley side to gain a better perspective, though it was more climbing than walking, and he saw that the army stretched all the way to where the valley swung round in the distance, and he could not say how many more there might be beyond the curve. It was more orcs than Bilbo had ever conceived even in his most unpleasant imaginings, and he had to sit down for a moment on the sere grass, for his legs had quite turned to water.

When he had recovered himself a little, he shaded his eyes and searched for as long as he dared for any sign of Kili. But the orcs and wargs were so many, and so tall compared to one little dwarf, that even had he been only a few score feet away Bilbo might not have been able to see him. And so he returned, half-sick with terror and on the verge of despair, and told Thorin what he had seen.

The dwarf king seemed almost unaffected by the news, though perhaps that was only because his countenance could not grow any grimmer. “Where is Dain?” he muttered, turning to gaze southwards, and Bilbo understood that he had abandoned any plans he might have had to fetch Kili away by stealth. And having understood this, Bilbo, too, turned his eyes to the south, for every minute that passed before Dain arrived was a minute more that Kili might not live to see the end of.

But the wait was not a long one, though it seemed to stretch into forever for Bilbo, for it was still hours until midday when the southern horizon seemed to darken as if with smoke, and soon after that that they could make out the forms of dwarves marching at the double. The company rose from their hiding place and mounted their ponies, and Fili swept Bilbo up in front of him, for which Bilbo was quite grateful, for though he was prepared to ride a pony at speed all night, he thought that if he went into battle on one he would certainly soon find himself dismounted and most probably trampled. They waited not a moment when Dain and the first dwarves finally reached them, but turned as if in unspoken agreement towards the valley, and rode towards it at great speed. But although they had indeed surprised the orcs by appearing so soon, they would not catch them sleeping, for they were not at all new to the ways of war and had of course posted scouts, and although these had not seen Thorin's small company in the harsh glare of the sun, they could hardly miss Dain's army. So it was that when Thorin and his dwarves reached the end of the valley, the orc army was rousing for battle, and a great noise went up of iron and wood and the harsh cries of the orcs and the deep growls of the wargs. And out from the great mass of foul bodies that lay before them rode a great white orc with five others, and Bilbo felt his heart shrink within him.

Thorin sat proud on his mount and betrayed no emotion at the sight of his old foe, but Fili tensed behind Bilbo and one of the other dwarves swore softly in the dwarven tongue. Azog, though, had a sneering smile on his face.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” he said. “I see you have saved me the trouble of tearing down your mountain to take your head. It is too many years since I have tasted Durin's flesh, but we will feast tonight.”

Fili sucked in an unhappy breath behind him, and Bilbo thought he knew why, for the great white orc spoke Common in much the same way as Kili did, all harsh consonants and sharp vowels. It was an unwelcome reminder indeed, and it seemed somehow much more painful than it ought to have, given the desperate situation in which they found themselves.

“If you wish for a taste of Durin, then come and take it,” Thorin said. “I will give you a taste of Durin's iron.”

Azog roared with laughter at that, and the orcs around him snickered, too. “Ever the bold one, little king,” he said. “But Durin's weapons do not bite as sharply as you suggest.” And he jerked his head at one of the orcs who rode beside him. This orc smirked and flung an object down on the turf between them. It was a broken bow, and Bilbo recognised it immediately as the one Kili had been carrying when he was taken. Fili's hands tightened on the reins of the pony, and Bilbo felt his own hands clench into fists.

Azog, though, was looking at Thorin, whose face had grown twisted with fury, and his sneer turned into a thoughtful smirk. “Odd that you would let such a pitiful wretch as the one we found with it steal such a precious object,” he said. “One of your slaves, was he not? You should keep a closer eye on your property, little king.”

Bilbo thought he could hear Thorin's teeth grinding from where he sat, but the dwarf king made no answer, and Azog stared at him through narrowed eyes.

“Or perhaps I have the wrong of it,” he said. “Even a dwarf could not look so grim over a mere broken weapon. He was something else to you, perhaps? But not a kinsman, surely, for by the marks on his body, that little _snaga_ was one of ours for many years, and no dwarf could leave a kinsman to the orcs for so long.”

“No kinsman of mine,” Thorin growled, but his voice was hoarse and there was a light of horror in his eyes, and Azog saw it just as surely as Bilbo did, and he lifted his head and crowed in triumph.

“A Durin whelp, was he?” he cried. “I thought his flesh was sweeter than a mere common slave!” He raised himself on his warg and turned to look behind him. “Do you hear that, boys?” he called. “We have feasted on Durin blood without even knowing it!” A great, mocking cry went up from the army, and Azog turned back to Thorin with a vicious smile, and ran his tongue over his pointed teeth. “How about we get some more,” he said, and raised his arm.

Fili bent his head to Bilbo's ear, then, his breath harsh and urgent. “Bilbo, when we get in among them, put on your ring and get down,” he said. “You must look for my brother.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, for he had no illusions about how useful he would be in the battle, and no doubt he would only get in Fili's way if he stayed on the pony. “But Master Fili, what the orc said--” 

“Not until we see him fall with our own eyes, Mr. Baggins,” said Fili grimly, though his knuckles were still white on the reins. “I will not make that mistake again.”

And then the great orc brought his arm down and the orcs surged forward with a shrieking cry. And a great, full-throated bellow sounded from all throats on the dwarven side, and Bilbo found himself shouting too, roaring with a rage he had not known he possessed. The dwarves leaped forward, and Fili and Bilbo with them, and Bilbo thought that the crash of the two sides meeting would resound in his ears for the rest of his life.

However long that might be.


	35. Chapter 35

Bilbo Baggins was a very different hobbit from the one who had stepped out of the door of Bag End one spring morning many months ago. He had faced a great many dangers since then, terrors nameless and named, and been witness to any amount of darkness and despair, and he was grown older, wiser, and perhaps a little sadder, though there was a great deal to be valued in his experiences as well. But he had never yet found himself witness to a genuine battle, and indeed had never thought to, for stealing treasure from a dragon requires a great deal of courage and a light foot, but it does not require axes and shields, armour and war cries. And yet now here he was, and everything was new and terrifying, and his little hobbit heart, stout though it was, seemed to shrink in his chest.

The noise was the first thing that impressed itself upon him, even before the first blows had been struck. There was a ringing of swords and axes, and the great shrieking of the orcs, and the full-throated bellow of the dwarves as they cried battle-shouts in their own tongue. And then the front ranks of the two opposing armies smashed into one another at full speed, and a great shock ran through all the troops, and there was the sound of snarling wargs and screaming ponies and the groans of dwarves and orcs as the first blood was drawn.

Everything around Bilbo was chaos, but he looked to his left and saw suddenly a great warg leaping forward, and a one-eyed orc astride it swinging a great mace towards his face. He ducked, his heart in his mouth, knowing there was no way he could avoid the blow, but the mace was caught by Fili's sword, the shock of the impact jarring enough that even Bilbo felt it. Bilbo grabbed the pony's reins as Fili grunted, pushing back against the mace, and this allowed Fili to draw his other sword and swing it sharply and precisely, half-severing the orc's head from his shoulders. The orc tumbled from his mount with a dying gurgle, and the warg snapped at Fili until he thrust his sword into its gaping maw. Blood gushed down over Fili's arm and onto the side of the pony, coating Bilbo's left leg, and then Bilbo felt himself being lifted by his collar and set down on the ground in the small space created by the fallen warg.

“Your ring, Mr. Baggins,” Fili said urgently, letting go of Bilbo, and Bilbo, feeling rather dazed by all the commotion around him, quickly thrust his hand in his pocket and slipped on his ring. Fili's eyes were immediately looking through him rather than at him, and he wheeled his pony to face a new threat, but glanced back over his shoulder in Bilbo's general direction.

“Be careful,” he said. “And find my brother.”

Then he spurred onwards, and moments later Bilbo had lost sight of him in the mêlée.

\----

The noise might have been the first thing that Bilbo noticed about battle, but it was not the most long-lasting impression by any means. Though he could barely hear himself think, it took not long at all before he was used to the astounding wall of sound, and instead discovered there was something even more unexpected, and more unpleasant: the smell. Invisible though he was, he was in constant danger of being tripped over or caught by an errant sword or axe, and he quickly realised that the best way to keep from being underfoot was to trample over the fallen bodies, which the fighters mostly avoided as being treacherous underfoot. Since he was moving towards the orcish side of the conflict, most of these bodies were orc and warg, which he was profoundly grateful for, and he scrambled over slippery, blood-slicked limbs and chests and fur, until he put his foot right into a warg's guts, where its belly had been ripped open by a dwarvish blade. Intestines spilled out over the ground and something utterly foul squeezed up between his toes and he danced back, fighting hard to avoid vomiting. And that was when he first caught the true stench of war, for if you had asked him a day before he would have said that battle most likely smelled of sweat and blood and perhaps iron, but in fact all of this was overwhelmed by the reek of death, for it turned out that the inside of a once-living creature's body, be they orc or warg or dwarf, smells fouler than anything Bilbo had imagined, and strong enough to drown all but the thick, red odour of blood.

Ultimately, Bilbo lost the battle with his stomach, and expelled its contents onto the battlefield, though luck was on his side and no orc noted the appearance of vomit from thin air. The smell of it only made matters worse, though, and Bilbo staggered sideways, head spinning, and narrowly avoided tangling himself up in a pitched battle between two orcs and one dwarf. He darted away from this and then dropped to the turf with a squeak to avoid being trampled by a charging warg. He scrambled quickly to his feet, ducking and weaving between the surging orcs, trying to get away from the active battle and behind the orcish lines, for surely that was where Kili would be found. But the press of orcs was so thick as they tried to reach the battle that he could barely move, and looking around himself he saw only muscular orcish legs and chests, and he knew that he could be mere paces away from Kili and never see the little dwarf. This would not do at all.

So he struck out sidewards, towards the steep side of the valley, although he crossed diagonally forwards as well, for the battle was only a few paces behind him and as uneasy as it made him to be thus completely surrounded by orcs, it was far preferable to being in the direct path of sharp blades from both sides. Here behind the orcish lines there was certainly violence, for the orcs were so eager to join the narrow front of the battle that quarrels broke out among the pushing and the shoving, and sometimes knives were drawn, and sometimes the orcs even killed each other in their furious bloodlust. In fact, several of these fights were started by Bilbo himself, who got himself tangled in the feet of more than one orc who then turned on his nearest neighbour for tripping him. Perhaps the little hobbit could even have managed to take down a number of the fell beasts merely through intentional clumsiness, but he had another task appointed to him and was anxious to see it through.

So it was that, at length and feeling already quite shaken and exhausted, he stumbled out of the mass of orcs and found himself at the point where the land began rapidly to steepen. He crawled quickly up the slope, strong fingers and toes gripping the turf. Hobbits are not given to adventures, but they have a number of characteristics that makes them well-suited for certain types of adventurous activities, and Bilbo's light weight and agility meant that he could climb the slippery turf with much more facility than a dwarf might. Even so, it was steep enough that he had to take some care, and when he was a few feet above the heads of the orcs, he turned cautiously to see what he could see.

Much as the first time he had stood thus, earlier that morning, the valley floor was dark with orcs, and bats blackened the sky overhead. But where before the orcs had been sleeping, now they surged like a great, narrow sea, ever and anon breaking against the wall of dwarves that opposed them. Bilbo turned to the head of the defile, and he saw that the dwarves were indeed advantaged by the topography, for they spread themselves out beyond the end of the valley and pressed into it like a cork into the neck of a bottle, and they were able to move such that a given dwarf fought only a short time at the front before being replaced by his neighbour. The dwarves that had yet to take their turn still stood proudly, their mail glinting in the sun; those who had fought were more bedraggled, the shine of their coats dulled under blood both black and red; and those who hacked and sliced at the front were so coated in blood and dirt that it was hard to tell who was friend and who was foe. But clear it was that there were many more orcish dead than dwarvish, and even though the orcish army still stretched on all the way to the curve of the valley and beyond, and numbered far greater than the dwarves, Bilbo felt a spark of hope in his heart.

But then he heard a shriek from behind, and he turned to see a sight that froze his blood in his veins. For further down the valley, where the sides were a little less precipitous, an orc was climbing. It was not one of the huge, muscular orcs, but one of the long-limbed, spidery ones, and where it swarmed up the valley side, more followed, singly at first, but then in twos and threes. Some fell back, but more replaced them, and Bilbo saw that they were aiming for the top of the ridge, high above him, and that if they reached it, they might scramble down the other side and come down to flank the dwarves, or even surround them. If they were able to do so, it would be a crushing blow, for even the stout hearts and iron bones of dwarves could not withstand the weight of such superior numbers for long. It was only the valley that was keeping the dwarves from being swept away, and if nothing was done, that defence would not last much longer.

Bilbo turned in terror back to the dwarves, but he could see no way that they could put off the attack, for they could not spare the numbers to send up the valley sides themselves, even if they were able to easily climb them. But then his gaze settled beyond them, and he felt something like hope again: there, not many hundreds of paces away, marched a great, dark line of people, and in among them Bilbo's sharp eyes caught sight of the pale hair of the elf king and the flaming red of Tauriel.

He was off in an instant, making his way along the valley slope as fast as he dared, until finally he was back on realtively level ground just a few paces away from the edge of the dwarven army. The moment his feet touched down, he took to his heels, sprinting so that the tears started in the corners of his eyes and his heart thundered in his chest. Even so, it took him far longer than he would have wished to close the distance between himself and the elvish army, and by the time he reached them and drew off the ring, his breath was sobbing in his throat, and he all but collapsed at the feet of Tauriel.

She stopped dead when she saw him and raised a hand sharply, and the whole army stopped around her, which was probably the only thing that prevented Bilbo from being trampled. Dropping to one knee beside him, she raised his chin with gentle fingers, staring at him with a frown.

“Mr. Underhill,” she said in astonishment. “I did not think to see you here! The battlefield is no place for a hobbit.”

“Please,” Bilbo gasped out. “The orcs are scaling the valley walls and they will come down behind the dwarves. It is too steep for them, they will be crushed!” 

This declaration was a little incoherent, to be sure, but Tauriel's face quickly grew grim, and she stood immediately, conferring in the elvish tongue with the elf king and the pale-haired elf who stood at his side and who Bilbo had seen before in the camp. Moments later she was kneeling again.

“We will do what we can,” she said, “but you should stay here, Mr. Underhill. It is not safe for a little one such as you to be in battle.”

Bilbo choked on a bitter laugh. “It is not safe for anyone to be in battle, mistress elf,” he said, acutely aware of the blood that was drying stiff on the skin of his face and hands, though none of it was his. “And I must go back -- my friend is lost, and I must find him.”

Tauriel frowned then. “It is a true heart indeed that would follow a friend into such a desperate place,” she said. “I hope he is as true to you as you are to him.”

“He is, and truer still,” Bilbo said stoutly, and Tauriel gave him a thoughtful look.

“In that case, I will take you where you desire to go,” she said, “though I think it folly. It would be a cruel soul indeed that would stand against true friendship.”

And she swept him up into her arms, and a moment later she was running, and her troops following behind her.

\----

Being carried by an elf was very little like being carried by a dwarf. There was no constant jarring pounding, for Tauriel ran light-footed, as if her feet barely touched the ground. Her arms were strong about him, and she ran with remarkable speed, despite the uneven nature of the ground. When she came to the steep valley side, she barely seemed to pause, but ran up it as though it were level, and it seemed mere moments before they came out on top of the ridge. Here Tauriel set Bilbo down, and he looked around to see the fight far below him, and the pale-haired elf leading another set of troops up to the opposing ridge. Far down the valley, the first orcs had just emerged onto the top, and Tauriel drew her bow and shouted something in the elvish tongue. But Bilbo was not paying attention, for down below him he had caught sight of a flash of bright yellow hair, and he fixed his eyes on it and saw it was Fili, seemingly none the worse for wear and wielding his swords with precise and lethal skill. But he seemed not to have seen the orc that had crept around behind him, and now the fell creature was raising his wicked curved blade, and Bilbo cried out a warning, but Fili could not hear him.

But someone else did hear him, and a moment later the orc fell, an elvish arrow sprouting from his throat. Fili fought on, oblivious, but Bilbo looked up at Tauriel with desperate gratitude, and she lowered her bow and looked down on him gravely.

“Take care, little one,” she said. “I hope you find your friend.”

And then she was gone, and her elves with her, parting around Bilbo like water. And he stood on the top of the ridge and put on his ring again, but he was no closer to finding Kili than he had been.

\----

Bilbo ran all the way along the top of the ridge to where it curved around with the valley, and he saw many, many orcs, but he saw nothing that might have been a little dwarf, and his heart grew heavier with every step. The army continued on for some distance beyond the curve, but he saw now that the elves were steadily outflanking the orcs, though with a thin line of troops only, attacking downhill where necessary and showering arrows into the mass of orcs and wargs where not. Bilbo knew that these arrows could just as easily hit a dwarf as an orc, but he determined not to think about this, just as he did not think about what the great white orc had said about tasting the blood of Durin. After all, as every hobbit knew, there was no sense borrowing trouble.

He jogged further on along the ridge, dodging aside from elves here and there but feeling altogether less in harm's way than he had previously. But he reached the end of the orc army -- and now the orcs were entirely surrounded by elves, so it seemed -- without seeing any sign of Kili, and he turned despairing eyes back the way he had come and began to jog back again, for he could think of nothing else to do.

When he rounded the curve of the valley again, though, a sight met his eyes that vanquished any thought he might have had of safety. For there was a great, furious surge building in the midst of the orcish troops, one that could not have been visible from the ground, and moments later it broke upon the defending dwarves with a great crash like thunder, and the dwarves, taken by surprise, were driven suddenly backwards, parting unwillingly before the overwhelming force of orcish bodies. 

Bilbo ran now faster, though of course there was little he could do, and he saw to his horror the orcs pouring out onto the plain through the gap in the dwarvish front, so that the dwarves could not close it again, try as they might. And now there was pitched battle before the valley mouth, and no dwarves could be allowed to rest any more. Great holes had opened up in the mêlée now that the orcs were no longer hemmed in on all sides, and it was much easier to see what was happening. And when Bilbo drew close, he saw that in the middle of one such hole, Thorin Oakenshield stood at bay, and against him stood the great pale orc.

If someone had asked him at that moment, Bilbo would not have been able to say what it was that drove him back down the slope and into the battle. He had tried to find Kili, and he had not found him, and he could see no way to easily do so, and now his friend was in danger and perhaps he merely wanted to feel useful in some way, to quell the feeling of helplessness that had taken hold of his heart and mind. But perhaps he was not really thinking at all, for it is rare that there is time for such in battle, even for a bystander. In any case, he stumbled and half-fell down the slope, tumbling into the empty space -- though it was not quite empty, for it was piled with bodies, most orc and warg but some not -- moments before a second orc emerged from the fray behind Thorin and raised a curved sword to take off his head. The pale orc snarled, and Thorin turned and ducked too late, but Bilbo had scurried forward with nothing in his head but rage and terror, and, unseen, had sunk his little sword into the second orc's stomach with a strength that would have surprised anyone who had witnessed it, not least Bilbo himself. But no-one did witness it, of course, and the orc fell to his knees with a grunt of surprise. His blow went wide, glancing off Thorin's thigh instead of his neck, and Thorin staggered but recovered, and turned to parry the next blow by the pale orc, though the force of it sent him to one knee with a grunt of pain. Blood was now flowing down his thigh, and Bilbo watched in horror as the pale orc raised his sword with a grin, ready to smash it down in a killing blow. But he had reckoned without the power of invisible hobbits, for though Bilbo's sword was nowhere near large enough to cause serious wound to the great orc's thick hide, nonetheless he slashed him across the small of the back, and this was enough to momentarily distract Azog, who glanced behind himself with an angry bellow. Momentary it might have been, but it was enough for Thorin to recover himself and rise to his feet, and Azog turned back to find the dwarf king looking him straight in the face before thrusting his sword deep into the pale orc's gut and up into his heart and lungs.

Azog choked, black blood pouring from his lips, and Thorin twisted his blade, grim-faced and unsmiling.

“You will not wipe the last of my line from this world,” he said, his voice fractured with strain.

The orc laughed then, black-flecked foam dripping from his mouth. “It is already done, little king,” he said. “Enjoy your throne, now that I have killed all who might sit on it when you are gone.”

And then he sank to his knees and fell, burying Thorin's sword beneath his great weight.

Thorin stood a moment in silence, his jaw tight with who knew what mixture of pain and trouble. Then he turned searching eyes beyond Azog.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said. “You are here, are you not?”

Bilbo slipped off the ring, then, and hurried to Thorin's side when he listed towards his injured thigh.

“You should sit down,” he said. “You look dreadful.”

“It seems you will never stop surprising me,” murmured Thorin. “I had thought you long lost. But have you seen my nephews?” ِAnd now that Bilbo was close to him, he could see that it was not just the great gash in his thigh that pained him, for there were countless smaller wounds, bruises and cuts, littering every visible part of his skin, and his leather armour was rent in many places, showing the mail beneath. There was a sheen of sweat on his face and a glaze in his eyes that troubled Bilbo, and he sank now to his knees, though Bilbo tried to hold him up.

“There,” Bilbo said, patting his arm helplessly. “We ought to try and get you away from here.”

“My nephews,” Thorin said hoarsely, grasping Bilbo's shoulder with a bruising grip, “have you seen them?”

There was such desperation in his eyes that Bilbo found himself nodding rapidly. “Yes, yes I have,” he said. “They are both fighting fit.” And any guilt he might have felt over the lie was extinguished when he saw the peace in Thorin's eyes.

“Mr. Baggins,” the king said, “if you still have your ring, I recommend you put it on, for I think there is no escape from here for those that can be seen.” And he looked around himself, and Bilbo looked too, and saw that one of the orcs that fought nearby had noticed the king's plight and called now to its fellows, thick, foul Black Speech words of which Bilbo only understood _dwarf scum_ and _kill_ and wished he did not understand even that much. And now every orc that was not battling for his life suddenly let out a roar and charged for Thorin's position, and Thorin struggled again to his feet, drawing a short knife and leaning heavily on Bilbo. And then Bilbo knew that he would die, he and Thorin with him, and he hoped against hope that Fili would live, and find his brother, and that somehow something good would come out of this accursed quest in the end. And if he was to die, he supposed that fighting to save the life of a dwarf who, when all was said and done, Bilbo counted as a great friend was as good a way as slipping peacefully away in his hobbit hole at the age of ninety-five, and so he stood firm beneath Thorin's hand and drew his own little sword again and turned to face the onslaught.

But then there was a roaring sound that was deeper than the orcs and throatier than the dwarves, and a moment later the orcs that were bearing down on Bilbo and Thorin seemed to fly out of the way, flung by the great, slavering jaws of an enormous bear.

“Beorn!” cried Bilbo in great relief, for although he had certainly been prepared to die, he much preferred not to. And a moment later the bear had become a man and looked sombrely down on Bilbo before reaching and plucking Thorin from him, slinging the now half-conscious dwarf onto his back as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers.

“The battlefield is no place for one such as you,” Beorn said. 

“So I'm told,” Bilbo said. “But I am here, nonetheless, and unlike some, I am uninjured.”

“Will you come back with me to the tents of the healers?” Beorn asked.

“I will not,” said Bilbo, though with some reluctance. “But I thank you for the offer.”

And he gave a little bow, which Beorn returned, before turning his back and shifting into the great bear once more, ploughing his way through the ranks of the orcs.

And then Bilbo heard another noise, and this one was brassy and triumphant: the sound of a great horn, and above it, the battle-cries of the men of Lake-Town.

“Bard is here!” Bilbo cried. “Oh, thank goodness!”

And he slipped on the ring and ran again through the knots of battling orcs and dwarves, now swiftly joined by men, searching always for any sign at all of Fili or Kili, and trying not to wonder if he had spoken his last words to Thorin Oakenshield.

\----

In later days, they called it the Battle of the Four Armies, for it was not until the arrival of the men that the tide finally turned. They were able to stem the tide of orcs pouring from the valley and hem them in once more, and although the dead among the elves and especially the dwarves were much more numerous than before, the losses on the side of the orcs now mounted until there were barely any living orcs to be seen for the piles of dead. And yet the foul beasts could not flee, though many of them had taken panic when their leader had been slain, for they were surrounded on all sides. The battle had lasted many hours, but it was over before the sun grazed the horizon, and there was nothing left to do but mourn the dead and care for the injured. The extraordinary number of dead among the orcs meant that the mountains of the north and west were safer in the years immediately following the battle than they had been for many years, and travel in those days was swift and easy. It was a great triumph indeed, and those who had been at the centre of it might have been forgiven for resting on their laurels.

And yet Bilbo's task was not at all done. 

He wandered among the piles of dead, checking every face that he could reach, and praying that Kili was not to be found buried under orc corpses, for he was not strong enough to move them by himself. And he worried now about Fili as well, and about the rest of the company, for he had seen none but Thorin, and he had been gravely injured and perhaps had already passed to the halls of his fathers. But he saw no sign of any familiar face, though there were many dwarves among the dead, and as he wandered he began to despair, for it seemed that the battlefield stretched on for ever, and all was sere grass and black and red blood and sightless, staring eyes.

But then he heard a voice that struck a note of hope into his heart, and he turned and ran towards it, stumbling over a dead pony and almost falling on top of the voice's owner.

“Fili!” he cried. “Oh, I am so very glad to see you!”

“And I you, my dear Mr. Baggins,” cried Fili. “I had feared -- but no matter.” And now he took Bilbo urgently by the arm. “Did you find my brother?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I saw your uncle,” he said. “He is injured, but taken to the healing tents. I do not know how he fares. But I have seen no sign of Kili.”

Fili seemed to sag then, passing a hand over his eyes. He looked a terrible fright, his skin, hair and clothes drenched in blood, and Bilbo could not see how much, if any, was his, and whether he was injured or merely exhausted.

“Are you hurt, Master Fili?” he asked.

Fili shook his head. “My knee is wrenched,” he said. “The rest is mere cuts and bruises. But Mr. Baggins, you have not seen any bones? Any dwarf bones?”

Bilbo shook his head quickly at this. “None,” he said. “There is no reason to think--”

“But the great orc said it,” Fili said, his grip on Bilbo's arm tightening. “You heard him as well as I. That they had feasted on my brother's flesh. And I cannot find him, Mr. Baggins. I have looked, and looked, and I cannot find him.”

“Yes, he did say that,” Bilbo said stoutly. “But before Thorin killed him, he also said he had slain you. And yet here you stand before me while he lies rotting on the ground.”

Fili blinked at him, and Bilbo gave him a firm nod.

“Not until we see him fall, master dwarf,” he said.

“Not until we see him fall,” Fili replied, though quietly.

“Good,” Bilbo said, unpeeling Fili's fingers from his arm. “Then let us keep looking, for it will be dark in an hour or two.”

\----

Once Bilbo had ascertained that Fili truly had suffered only minor injuries, they parted ways in order to cover more ground. Bilbo moved as quickly as he could while still covering all the ground in detail, for he was uncomfortably aware of the lengthening shadows. And even with the careful way he peered around, the dead were so uncountable and so unrecognisable in their twisted, blood-spattered forms that he almost did not see the arm sprawled across his way, and might have stepped right past it had his eye not been caught by a flash of blue. He paused and looked closer, and he saw that it was a feather, part of a broken arrow shaft, and that the hand that clutched it was unmistakeably dwarven. Dwarven, and bearing a manacle at the wrist. 

“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed, and he sank to his knees and saw immediately that the body the hand belonged to, almost crushed beneath the corpse of a giant orc, was small for a dwarf, narrow-shouldered, the face obscured by a wild tangle of black hair that was now stiff with blood. He brushed the hair aside, his heart beating fiercely in his chest, and saw familiar features, though half obscured by blood and greatly swollen on one side as if the owner had been savagely beaten.

Kili.

Bilbo took the little dwarf by the shoulders and shook him gently. His skin was icy, and for a horrified moment Bilbo thought he was not breathing, but then he saw a shallow rise and fall of the little dwarf's chest, and was forced to sit back for a moment to breathe deeply himself, for the world seemed to be spinning a little around him. Then he leaned back over and shook the little dwarf again.

“Kili,” he said, aware that his voice was breaking but unable to do anything about it. “Oh, Master Kili, wake up! You must wake up!”

There was no response, and Bilbo tried to lift the little dwarf into his arms, but something prevented him from doing so. But when he set him back down to see what the problem was, it was to see Kili staring up at him out of his good eye, the other still swollen shut.

“Oh,” said Bilbo again. “Oh, my lad, my dear lad. Oh, thank goodness, I am so happy to see you alive.”

Kili merely stared and did not reply, and Bilbo patted him anxiously on the arm.

“Are you hurt?” he said. “Can you understand what I'm saying?” 

Kili still did not speak, and Bilbo rather frantically reached for his face, prying his mouth open and checking to see that his tongue was still there. It was, and Bilbo heaved a great sigh of relief and stroked the little dwarf's cheek, troubled again by how cold his skin was.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. “Kili, do you remember who I am?”

Kili did not reply, but after a moment, the hand that was not clutching the broken arrow crept out and curled itself into Bilbo's sleeve, and Bilbo found himself unexpectedly bursting into tears.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, that is right. I am your friend the hobbit. I am your dear friend.”

Kili stared up at him, and Bilbo gasped out a few sobs and then pulled himself together, hiccuping a little as he fought for control. “Can you sit up?” he asked. 

Kili's good eye rolled towards the orc that lay almost on top of him, and then back to Bilbo. Bilbo frowned and tried again to lift the little dwarf, but there seemed to be something keeping him down. It took a moment for Bilbo to realise it was the chain attached to his collar, and that it was trapped under the body of the great orc.

“Oh,” said Bilbo, “oh, this wretched thing!” And he hauled on the chain with all his might, but he could not budge it in the slightest. And when he tried to roll the orc corpse, he got no further.

“Kili, can you help me?” he asked. “Can you help me move the orc?”

But Kili simply stared dully up at him, and then closed his eye.

“Oh, no!” Bilbo said smartly, and shook the little dwarf by the shoulder. “No you don't, master dwarf. I won't have you giving up on me, not when I have finally found you. Wake up!”

Kili's eyelid rolled open again, and he stared dutifully up at Bilbo, his eye seeming glazed with exhaustion.

“Now, I am your friend,” Bilbo said, “and I came here to find you, and I will not leave you. But I must get help. I must get someone to help both of us, do you understand? So I will have to go away for a little while, but I will come back, I promise you. I will come back. Do you understand?”

Kili stared at him, and Bilbo shook him a little.

“Do you understand?” he said.

Kili gave a slow nod, and Bilbo felt like cheering, for it was the first thing that approximated a verbal response that Kili had provided since he woke up. And then Bilbo had the heart-breaking task of untangling the little dwarf's fingers from his sleeve, which Kili seemed most reluctant to allow. He lowered Kili's hand to his side and patted it gently.

“I will come back,” he said. “I promise.”

And then he shot to his feet and was running almost before he was standing, back in the direction he had last seen Fili, yelling his name at the top of his voice.

\----

It could only have been a few minutes before Bilbo saw Fili limping hastily towards him, though it felt like much longer. Fili's face was alight with hope and apprehension, and he caught Bilbo's arm as soon as he reached him.

“You have found him?” he asked, as if he barely dared to hear the answer.

“I have,” Bilbo said, “and he is alive, if not quite well. But I cannot move him, Master Fili, he is trapped, and I need your help!”

No other word needed to be said, and Fili followed behind Bilbo as fast as he could, dropping to his knees beside Kili with a great sob when he finally saw him.

“Oh, we have found you!” he cried. “I am so sorry, o my brother. I am so sorry we lost you again.”

Kili opened his one eye and stared up at his brother, and Fili took his face in both hands and pressed their foreheads gently together, then laid a kiss on his brother's brow, tears dripping from his moustache onto Kili's cheeks. “My brother,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to Kili's. “My brother, oh, my brother.”

But a moment later he lifted his head and gave Bilbo a troubled look. “But he is so cold,” he said, sounding rather frantic.

“We must get him to the healers,” Bilbo said. “But his chain is trapped under the orc and I cannot move it.”

Fili looked at him and nodded, and though silent tears still streamed down his cheeks, there was a look of determination on his face. “Then we will move it together, my friend,” he said. “We will free him together.”

And so they set their shoulders to the body of the great orc, and heaved with all their strength. But although Fili was a dwarf, and thus quite possibly capable of moving the great orc all on his own, though it must have been twice his size, his knee was quite badly wrenched, and he grunted in pain and lost his footing on the slippery grass, almost collapsing on top of Kili. A second attempt yielded a similar result, and Bilbo began to feel something akin to despair.

“Perhaps I should see if I can find someone else to help?” he said, though he could see nothing moving nearby but the carrion crows that feasted already on the dead. 

“No,” Fili said fiercely. “We can move it.” And he looked down at Kili, and patted his cheek until he opened his eye. “No sleeping now, brother,” he said. “We will soon have to move.”

And then he set his shoulder once more to the orc, and locked his gaze with Bilbo's, counting to three. And they both pushed upwards and forwards with all of their might, Fili half-screaming against the pain in his knee, until the orc rolled over, inch by agonising inch, and collapsed on its back, staring sightlessly up at the sky. A broken arrow shaft protruded from its throat, and Bilbo blinked at it.

“I suppose we have the elves to thank for that,” he muttered. 

“No,” Fili said. “That is a dwarvish arrow.” And he plucked the arrow from the orc's neck and frowned at it. 

But then Bilbo remembered the feather that had first drawn his attention to Kili, and he took the arrow head from Fili and bent, fitting it to the broken shaft that Kili still clutched in his fist. It was a perfect fit, bar a few splinters.

“Not shot,” Bilbo said wonderingly. “Stabbed.”

Fili smiled, then. “Well done, my brother,” he said, voice swelling with pride. “Well done, indeed.”

But now they found that the chain was still not loose, for the end of it was clutched in the dead orc's fingers. And after a moment or two of trying to untangle it, Fili drew his knife and cut the fingers away, and the chain finally fell to the ground with a dull clank.

“You are free,” Fili said. “You are free now.”

But Kili did not rise, and his eye had closed once more. Bilbo and Fili took him in their arms and tried to lift him to his feet, but he was a dead weight, seeming unable to get his feet under him, though his eye slipped open a crack. And Fili tried to lift him, but his knee gave out entirely and he collapsed back to the ground, Kili sprawled on top of him. They made five attempts, trying different ways of carrying Kili, but the end result was always the same, and finally Fili dug his fingers into the turf and let out a growl of frustration.

“He cannot stay out here overnight,” he said. “He is already too cold.”

“Well, I cannot carry him, that is clear enough,” Bilbo said, “and it seems you cannot, either.”

“He is my brother,” Fili said. “I will always carry him.”

“You need carrying yourself,” Bilbo retorted, and then bit his tongue at the look of helpless despair on Fili's face. But then he glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye, and he shot to his feet, waving and shouting.

“Help!” he cried. “Oh, won't you please help us!”

The figure he had glimpsed turned and hastened towards them, and he saw that it was the pale-haired elf that he had first seen talking to Tauriel in the tunnels of the fortress in Mirkwood. He dropped to his knees before their little party and smiled a relieved smile.

“You have found them!” he cried. “These are the king's nephews, are they not?” 

“Who wants to know?” Fili asked curtly, and the elf raised an eyebrow.

“I am Legolas of the Greenwood,” he said. “I am sent by the healers to find you and your brother, for the king will not cease to bellow your names in his delirium.”

“Then he lives?” Fili said urgently.

Legolas nodded. “Aye, he lives,” he said, “though he is still not out of danger. They think it will be comfort to him to know that you yet draw breath. Though I was beginning to wonder if perhaps you did not.”

“They cannot walk,” Bilbo said quickly. “Can you carry them?”

“I can walk,” said Fili, and tried to get to his feet before collapsing with a grunt.

Legolas shook his head. “Not both,” he said. “Dwarves have bones of iron, they weigh far more than is necessary for something so small.”

Fili growled, but Legolas raised a hand. “I will call for help,” he said blithely, and pursed his lips, letting forth a piercing whistle. A moment later, Tauriel appeared, running lightly over the heaps of orcish dead and dropping down beside them.

“Mr. Underhill!” she cried. “Always you appear in the least expected places. And I see you have found your friend and his beloved brother.”

“You know these dwarves?” Legolas said with a frown.

“We had them in our dungeons for a while,” Tauriel replied. “And this one has saved many of our kinsfolk this day, if I am not much mistaken.” She pointed at Kili, who still lay with his eyes closed, though whether he was unconscious or merely unable to face the world Bilbo did not know.

Legolas frowned deeper at that. “This is the orc-friend?” he said, staring at Kili as if he might somehow turn into a goblin.

Fili made a deep warning noise in his chest at that, and Tauriel said something quick and sharp-edged in the elvish tongue. Legolas looked a little taken aback, and turned to Kili and then, given his unresponsive state, to Fili.

“I am sorry,” he said, and seemed quite sincere. “I meant no offence by it. If the tales are true, your brother has prevented this battle from becoming a great bloodbath, and for that I am quite grateful.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said, “gratitude is all very well, but he is quite ill, and we need to take him to the healers, so perhaps it would be better given when he is awake and able to accept it himself.”

At this, Legolas looked quite chastened, and he stood swiftly, sweeping Kili into his arms despite Fili's angry protest. Tauriel knelt, allowing Fili to climb onto her back, which he did after a moment's reluctance, and then she lifted Bilbo easily for the second time that day.

“Little burden indeed for such a great debt owed,” she said.

And they ran.

\----

Despite the fact that he was almost entirely uninjured, Bilbo found himself being poked and prodded by the healers and prescribed a soothing draught -- not to sleep, they said, just to calm his nerves. And calm them it did, and once he had swallowed it Bilbo had to admit that he was grateful for it, for the curdling of his stomach that had not let up since Kili had been taken by the orcs finally seemed to subside, and he found himself able even to put on a cheerful grin when he jumped from the bed to go and see how the little dwarf was faring.

What he found, however, quickly wiped the smile from his face. For the healers were wrestling Kili back down onto the bed and holding him there with hands against his shoulders and arms, while his chest heaved and his good eye rolled in terror. Bilbo jumped immediately forward and tugged at the arms holding the little dwarf down, but the healers were elves and if they did not want to be moved, they would not be.

“What do you think you're doing?” Bilbo asked sharply.

One of the healers, a young elf with golden hair, gave him a perplexed look. “He will not lie down,” he said. “He does not seem to understand what we say to him. Do you speak his tongue?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Bilbo snapped. “It is called common sense. Did you ever think that maybe he might be happier sitting up?” And he slapped at the healer's arms until he let go of Kili in some surprise. Kili immediately sat up, his hand shooting out to tangle itself in Bilbo's sleeve, and Bilbo stroked his forearm soothingly.

“But he needs to sleep!” the healer said. “Sitting up will slow the healing process!”

“And how much will terrifying the life out of him speed it up?” Bilbo asked angrily. 

“He cannot sit up,” the healer insisted. “He has not the strength.”

“Well, can we not take him outside and find him a rock to brace his back against?” Bilbo asked.

The healer shook his head. “He is already too cold.” he said. “I will not allow him out of this tent until his body has warmed up.”

“Get out of my way, damn you,” came another voice, then, and Bilbo looked to see Fili shoving the second healer aside and limping to the bed, hauling himself up onto it and arranging himself so that he was behind his brother, cradling him against his chest and wrapping one arm protectively around him. “The problem with you elves,” he said dismissively, “is that you think there is only one kind of rock in this world.”

The healer gaped at him, and Bilbo found himself smirking a little. But Fili was not in the least interested in the healer, only focussing on his brother. “There now,” he murmured in his ear. “Lean on me. I will not let you fall.”

“But you are injured too, master dwarf,” the healer said finally.

Fili snorted. “A wrenched knee and some cuts and bruises,” he said. “If that is what passes for injury in Mirkwood, it is no wonder the spiders have stolen half of your kingdom.”

The healer's eyes widened in anger now, and Bilbo stepped in quickly to prevent a confrontation. “Master elf,” he said, “have you done all you can for Kili?”

“He needs to warm up,” the elf said, “and I am concerned that he does not speak.”

“But he will warm up much faster with his brother close to him, will he not?” Bilbo asked. 

The healer looked doubtful, but Bilbo gave him a quick pat on the arm. “Do you not think there are other patients who might need you more?” he asked. “Patients who are not angry dwarves?”

At that, the healer threw Bilbo a grateful look and nodded, hurrying away and taking his fellow with him. Bilbo shook his head as he watched them go, and was about to turn back to Fili and Kili when a new figure stepped into the tent. 

“Gandalf!” cried Bilbo.

“My dear Mr. Baggins,” Gandalf said with a chuckle. “It seems you have not only burgled the treasure of Erebor as you promised, but the mountain itself and one of its princes, not to mention turning the tide of the battle. Quite the triumph for a little hobbit.”

“Well, I certainly did not do all that myself,” Bilbo said, though he was blushing with pleasure and suddenly feeling rather weak with relief.

Gandalf's eyes strayed beyond him to the two dwarves who sat on the bed, and his smile widened.

“Ah, of course,” he said. “We must not forget the young sons of Dis. I have just come from seeing your uncle,” he said to them. “The news that you are well has done him the power of good, and he sleeps now peacefully. The elves believe he is no longer in any serious danger.”

Bilbo turned to smile at Fili, but Fili was sagging, clutching at his brother as if Kili was supporting him rather than the other way around.

“Thank you, Gandalf,” he said hoarsely. “It is good news indeed.”

Gandalf nodded. “And what of you, Master Kili?” he asked. “It has been many days since last we met, and I am very glad to see you still alive.”

Kili just stared at him, and Gandalf turned to Bilbo, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“I don't know,” Bilbo said. “But he is alive, and I have seen him in worse states.”

Gandalf's smile turned a little sad, then. “I suppose you have,” he said. “You must tell me all about it some day, but for now, there are many things still to do. I will leave you, if there is nothing else you need from me.”

“You have already given us more than we could have hoped for,” Bilbo said, for it was not only Fili who was greatly relieved to hear that Thorin lived. Gandalf squeezed his shoulder and smiled, and then swept out of the tent, leaving Bilbo alone with the two dwarves.

“You can rest now, Kili,” said Fili, and Bilbo turned to him and smiled.

“Yes, my lad,” he said. “Your uncle is safe, and your brother, too, and all the dwarves from what I hear, and you are safe, too, for there is no more danger. You are safe here, there is nothing left to fear.” He patted Kili's hand where it was still tangled in his sleeve. “You do not need to be scared any more.”

Kili's hand dropped from Bilbo's arm, then, as if there was no more strength in his fingers, and Bilbo looked up at him in alarm. But what he saw had him quite astounded, for it was something he had never seen before.

Kili was weeping.


	36. Part Five: Future Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traditionally, one finishes a story with a wrap-up chapter after the big, actiony climax, and that is what I originally had planned for this one. But it turns out I have too many things to tie up to fit it all into one chapter, and since the actiony bits are not really the point of this story, and let's face it, I have never been afraid to use seventeen chapters where one will do, I'm going to chuck tradition and do it this way. I'm thinking three. Probably.

And Kili wept.

He made no sound with it, bar the occasionally choked-off sigh. In fact, he made no sound at all, neither in Common nor in Black Speech, nor yet did he raise his hands in _iglishmek_. He simply sat with tears streaming down his cheeks and stared, and Bilbo would perhaps have been more concerned than he was, except that he remembered how Kili had seemed to be completely absent after their escape from Lake-Town, and this did not seem half so bad as that. Kili did not speak, but he could sometimes be coaxed into nodding or shaking his head, and it was clear that he recognised Bilbo and Fili and kept his eyes on them when they were in the tent.

And they always were in the tent, for Fili would not be parted from his brother, but sat behind him all night, and Bilbo found himself quite unable to bear untangling Kili's fingers from his sleeve, and so eventually he crawled up onto the bed, too, and slept rather uncomfortably, half in Kili's lap. 

And when he woke, Kili was weeping still.

The elves were quite disconcerted by it all. Certainly Kili was physically injured -- he had been beaten rather brutally and was a mess of bruises, especially on his left side, and his knee seemed to be troubling him again -- but there was nothing they could find that would explain why he did not speak, and why he could not seem to stop crying. Fili eventually cajoled them into admitting that there was no reason to keep him in the tent any longer, provided he would not be left alone and that someone would endeavour to feed him broth at regular intervals to replace the water and salt he was losing through his constant tears, and since of course there was no chance at all of Kili being left alone, and since both Fili and Bilbo would have fed him broth all day and all night if they could, for they wished only to be able to do something to help, the elves had no option but to let them go. 

They went back to the mountain. Fili barked orders without once letting go of his brother, until they found themselves installed in a little chamber that was mostly free of rubble and seemed stable. It was in the outer part of the kingdom, and there were light wells in the walls, which made Bilbo feel a little less like he was buried deep underground. They set up a makeshift bed in the corner with trestles and mattresses and blankets given to them by the men and elves, and Fili climbed onto it and pressed himself into the corner, pulling his brother in to lean on his chest and wrapping an arm around him, though gently, mindful of his bruises. It was quiet, for most of the able-bodied were still occupied at the battlefield in the north, and although the healers had begin to bring some of the less-injured dwarves back to the safety of the mountain fastness, the kingdom was still largely echoing and empty. Bilbo filled up the silence with chatter, and though Fili's face was pale and strained, he smiled and even chuckled here and there, and put in a comment or two of his own, and Kili seemed to listen, though he did not speak.

And yet still he wept.

On the evening of the day after the battle, when Kili had been weeping for a night and a day and showed no signs of stopping, there came a knock at the door of the little chamber. By now, Bilbo was beginning to feel a little more concerned, if only because it was difficult to persuade Kili to drink the broth that the healers left regularly outside the door, and he often choked on it when he did. And Fili had grown quieter as well by this time, no longer so quick to smile, his arm a little more tightly wrapped around his brother. In truth, Bilbo rather hoped their visitor might be one of the healers, come to tell them they had found a remedy for ceaseless weeping. But when he cracked the door open and peered out, it was not an elf, but Dwalin, hulking and shadowy in the torchlit corridor.

“Mr. Baggins,” he said. 

“Mr. Dwalin!” Bilbo cried, for he had seen none of the company but Fili since the battle had ended, so concerned had he been with Kili. “It is good to see you well. Are you injured at all?”

“Not to speak of,” Dwalin said, which, from what Bilbo knew of dwarves in general -- and of this dwarf in particular -- could mean anything from a stubbed toe to a punctured lung. “Will you let me in?”

Bilbo glanced back at Fili. “Dwalin,” he said in a low voice, and Fili hesitated, then nodded.

Bilbo sat back and swung the door open, and Dwalin stepped through, taking in the sight of Fili and Kili on the bed with something like relief.

“It seems you both have harder heads than even I realised,” he said.

Fili smiled a little at this, but Kili had bowed his head when Dwalin entered the room, and now his tears dripped on Fili's palm where it lay on his chest. Dwalin stepped a little closer, seating himself on the little trestle table that Bilbo had set beside the bed, and although it creaked rather alarmingly, it held his weight. “Kili, lad,” he murmured. “Are you hurt?”

“He has been hurt for twenty-five years,” Fili said quietly.

An expression of great grief passed across Dwalin's face then, though it was gone as quickly as it arrived. Then he nodded. 

“Aye,” he said. “If anyone has a right to tears, lad, it's you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Dwalin seeming sunk deep in thought, but then he roused himself. “Your uncle sent me to inquire after you,” he said to Fili. “He awoke this morning, and they are bringing him to the mountain.”

Fili's jaw clenched at that, and he nodded stiffly. “Tell him we are as well as can be expected,” he said, and Bilbo saw that now that Thorin was out of danger, Fili had not forgotten his fury, not at all.

“I will,” Dwalin said, and he made as if to stand, but then leaned forward instead, taking hold of Kili's chin with gentle fingers and raising it so he could look the little dwarf in the face. “I am going to talk to your uncle,” he said, “and then I will come back and stand outside the door. Do you understand me, Kili lad? I will stand outside the door.”

Kili did not reply, but his tear-bright eyes met Dwalin's for a moment before looking away, and Dwalin nodded and let go of his chin. He made to go, and Bilbo stood, too, following him out into the corridor.

“Mr. Dwalin,” he said, shifting from foot to foot in his uneasiness, “what about the gold? And the Arkenstone?” 

Dwalin stood a moment, considering him. “Thorin has agreed to give one twelfth-portion of the gold to the lake men in return for the Arkenstone,” he said, “on condition that they take all the treasures that they claim belong to men or elves, and that they renounce any further claim to what is left. Let them fight it out amongst themselves, so he says.”

Bilbo nodded, though he did not feel in the least reassured, for he feared what Thorin might do when the Arkenstone was back in his possession. “And what happens to the rest?” he asked.

“The company are each entitled to their share,” Dwalin said. “Thorin's share along with Fili's is being moved even as we speak. It will be locked away in vaults deep in the mountain, along with the Arkenstone, and no member of the line of Durin will know their location, nor who keeps the key. It is enough that there is treasure enough to keep the kingdom. There is no need for the king to always be looking upon it.”

Bilbo let out a great sigh, then, and had to lean against the wall a moment, so great was his relief. “Then it is truly over,” he said.

“Aye,” Dwalin replied. “It is truly over.”

“Then who keeps the key?” Bilbo asked. “What if they have gold-sickness themselves? Oh, but I suppose I'm not allowed to know.”

But Dwalin only smiled a little and then, to Bilbo's amazement, dropped to one knee, holding out a beautiful shining key carved with many runes as if he wished Bilbo to take it. 

“No, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “You are allowed to know.”

Bilbo felt his eyes grow wide. “Surely you cannot mean me!” he said.

“I do,” Dwalin said gravely. “I ask you once again to stand as a shield to my king and his kin. Will you accept?”

Bilbo could think of nothing at all to say, so great was his astonishment, but he wished Dwalin would stop kneeling in front of him, and so he reached out and took the key, stuffing it into his pocket. Dwalin nodded as if in satisfaction and rose to his feet.

“But aren't you afraid that I will steal the gold as I did the Arkenstone?” Bilbo asked.

Dwalin laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “No, lad,” he said. “I am not afraid of that at all.”

\----

On the second morning after the battle, Bofur came to see them. 

Nothing had changed in the little chamber, except that Dwalin had returned and now stood guard before the door, just as he had promised. Silent tears still ran ceaselessly down Kili's cheeks, and although the swelling on the left side of his face had gone down a little now, and he was able to open his left eye partway, his gaze seemed rather glazed to Bilbo, which was a cause of some concern. Fili had sunk into a gloomy silence, and it could not have been good for him to have been sitting so long in one position, but of course he refused to be moved, even if only for half an hour. And this was the way that Bofur found them, once both Dwalin and Fili had agreed that he could enter.

“Bilbo,” he said, “good to see you in one piece. And you lads, too.” He nodded at Fili and Kili, seeming entirely unaffected by the tears that still slid down Kili's cheeks, and winced a little as he sat down on the little trestle by the bed.

“But you are hurt,” Bilbo said, gesturing at the sling Bofur wore.

“Oh, aye,” Bofur said with a cheerful grin. “Three broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, so they tell me. Hurts like the blazes, I don't mind telling you. And that's not even the worst thing.”

“What's the worst thing?” Fili asked, seeming slightly enlivened by the presence of Bofur in the chamber.

Bofur swept off his hat and pushed three fingers through the crown, wiggling them at Kili. “The foul beasts wounded my hat!” he said. “I ask you, is nothing sacred?”

Bilbo found himself smiling for the first time that day. “Perhaps the elves can heal your hat,” he suggested.

“Perish the thought,” Bofur said, sounding rather offended. “I wouldn't let those tree-shaggers within ten leagues of it. The elf king told me he'd get me a new one, can you believe it? Gold and silver, he said it'd be. As if a gold and silver hat is of any use to anyone!”

“Why would the elf king give you a hat?” Fili asked, frowning now.

“Apparently I saved him from getting his face smashed in,” Bofur said. “Though if I'd've known it was him, I probably wouldn't have bothered.”

“Well, I hope you were polite when you turned him down,” Bilbo said, though since it was a dwarf he was speaking to, he was fairly sure that his hope was in vain.

“Oh, aye,” Bofur said. “I told him that a bit of smashing might have done his face good. Flattened out that pointy little nose of his.”

Bilbo groaned and Fili smirked. Bofur beamed at all of them, then shoved his hat back on his head and smiled particularly at Kili.

“I made something for you,” he said, apparently still completely ignoring Kili's weeping. “I meant to finish it up a little before I gave it to you, but it'll have to wait now till my fingers start listening to me again.” He fished in his pocket with his good arm and drew out a little wooden flute, rather crudely carved, but serviceable enough. “Since you liked mine so much,” he added, and held the flute out.

Kili did not even seem to notice the gesture, his eyes fixed on Bofur's face, though rather distant beneath the sheen of tears. Bofur smiled at him and waggled the flute in his general direction, but Kili did not even look at his hand, and after a moment Bofur shrugged.

“Well,” he said, “I'll keep it for you for now, then, will I? You can come and get it from me whenever you're ready.” And he put the flute to his lips and played a strange little tune, though since he was one-handed it was missing half the notes. Kili blinked at him, his eyes falling to the flute, but when Bofur kept playing he suddenly closed his eyes and bowed his head, tears falling faster now. Bofur stopped, frowning at Kili, then at Bilbo. Bilbo shrugged helplessly.

“He likes the music,” he said. “I wish you would keep playing.”

And so Bofur did, though his cheerful countenance seemed a little strained, for Kili did not look up at all, and after a little while he stopped and shook his head.

“It's making him cry,” he said, sounding troubled. “I'd better stop.”

But when he rose to go, Kili looked up, sharply, his good eye wide, and half-reached towards Bofur, his fingers closing on empty air. Bofur stopped, half-turned away, and held out the flute again.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “Do you want me to keep on?”

Kili said nothing, but simply stared at Bofur, eyes huge. Bofur turned back slowly and sat down again, but his face was solemn as Bilbo had rarely seen it.

“Why are you crying for, Kili?” he asked.

But Kili didn't answer, and after a moment, Bofur put the flute to his lips and began to play.

\----

After that, it seemed like there was an endless procession of dwarves through the little chamber, though most of them stayed not long at all, seeming uncomfortable with Kili's obvious distress, though it was clear they all wanted to see their companions and ascertain for themselves that they were unharmed, or at the very least not dead. To Bilbo, it was some relief, for the chamber had become melancholy indeed when it was just him and two silent dwarves, but it seemed rather difficult for Fili, who took to answering most questions with grunts and single words as the day wore on. Kili, meanwhile, improved not at all, and if anything he sank deeper into the daze that had threatened in the morning, seeming gradually to be losing what little energy he had. Finally, towards evening, he seemed to fall asleep, though the tears still squeezed from the corners of his closed eyes. Shortly afterwards, Fili dropped into an exhausted slumber, and Bilbo found himself nodding on the little trestle, and was just thinking about climbing onto the bed when he woke up with a start to find the room lit only by flickering firelight and Thorin Oakenshield sitting beside him, his leg swathed in bandages, staring at his sleeping nephews.

“Thorin!” Bilbo gasped, and Thorin turned and gave him a sombre glance before looking back at the two dwarves sleeping on the bed. 

“I have been a fool,” he said, as if speaking to himself. “I have been the greatest of all fools.”

Bilbo blinked, not entirely sure he was not dreaming. “Well,” he said, “I certainly will not argue with that.”

Thorin did not answer this, merely continuing to brood over his nephews, and Bilbo stretched himself as much as he could with Kili's fingers still curled in his sleeve and turned to frown at Thorin.

“I suppose you've forgiven me, then, have you?” he said. “For the Arkenstone?”

“Forgiven you?” Thorin said, and then shook his head. “I have never been so indebted to any creature.”

Bilbo did not know quite what to say to that. “Well,” he said finally, “it is good to see you have finally come to your senses.”

“I shall never come to my senses,” Thorin said bleakly. “It is a curse that lies upon my line, Mr. Baggins. I was a fool to think I could resist it where my fathers all failed.”

There was little answer that could be made to that, for of course it was true, although in the end Thorin had shaken off the curse, and Bilbo felt he deserved a little credit for that, at least. But he was a soft-hearted hobbit, and very quick to forgive, especially when he saw someone truly suffering for the hurt they had caused.

“There is no sense brooding about it now,” he said. “Why do you not think about something else?”

“And what else should I think about?” Thorin asked. “What else would you suggest to occupy my time?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Bilbo said, groping for the first thing that came to mind. “What about... elevenses? I always find elevenses occupy the time between second breakfast and lunch admirably.”

Thorin gave him a startled look, and then choked out a laugh. “Mr. Baggins,” he said, “you never cease to surprise me.” And then he grew sombre again. “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”

“Well, merry or sad, we have to live in it,” Bilbo said. “And there are many who need your help, not least your nephews over there, so you had better stop feeling sorry for yourself and do what you can for them.”

Thorin leaned forward, then, raising a hand as if he wished to reach out to the dwarves who slept before him, though he did not do so. “How do they fare?” he asked.

“Fili has some bumps and bruises,” Bilbo said. “And -- and he is very angry.”

Thorin nodded soberly. “It is his right,” he said, with some resignation. “And Kili?”

Bilbo shook his head. “He does not speak,” he said, feeling suddenly quite bleak himself, “and he will not stop crying.”

“If I had seen what he has, I would not stop crying either,” Thorin said, without taking his eyes from Kili's face.

Bilbo put a hand over Kili's where it clutched still at his sleeve. “I fear for his mind,” he said finally, reluctant to voice the thought he had not even discussed with Fili.

Thorin turned to him then with a frown. “Was it not you who told me his mind is stronger than any of us imagined?” he said.

“And was it not you who didn't listen to a word I said?” Bilbo retorted.

Thorin turned back to his nephews, then, staring at them as if he could divine the mysteries of Kili's tears merely by force of will.

“I am listening now,” he said.

\----

It was Ori who brought everything to a head.

He arrived on the morning of the third day after the battle, and by now Bilbo was beginning to feel rather frantic, for Kili's gaze had grown distant and his face pale, and there was a hint of fever about him. Bilbo knew they should be making him eat more broth, but he could not bear to force it down his throat, not after what the elves had done to him, and he had spent much of the morning so far coaxing and cajoling and exchanging anxious glances with Fili. The idea that the little dwarf might simply fade away after everything that had happened was quite unbearable, and so it was that when Ori walked through the door with a leather bag under his arm and a bandage on his head, both Bilbo and Fili were in quite snappish moods.

“Hello, Mr. Baggins!” said Ori. “Hello, Fili, hello, Kili.” It was the first time he had come to visit them, and he looked a little uncertainly around the room before his gaze lighted on Kili. It was clear he had been forewarned, for he did not seem surprised to see him crying, only rather sad. “I heard you weren't feeling very well,” he said.

“Ori, it is not a good time,” Fili said, but Bilbo was eyeing the bag and thinking that perhaps it was a perfect time, and he gestured for Ori to sit, sending a quick glance at Fili to quell his protest. Ori looked nervously at each of them, and then sat himself down.

“I'm sorry I didn't come and see you before,” he said to Kili. “I got a knock on the head in the battle, and Dori hasn't let me out of his sight since. Well, I only woke up last night, anyway.” He smiled a little. “Everyone's saying how brave you and Fili were, of course, but they're saying it about me, too! Apparently I killed a lot of orcs. I don't really remember it, though.”

Bilbo smiled and patted his knee, for he looked rather disconcerted by his lack of memory. “I'm sure you were very brave,” Bilbo said. 

“Well, I wish I could remember,” Ori replied. “I suppose you feel like that all the time, though, don't you?” he said to Kili, and then suddenly looked grief-stricken. “I was so afraid that they had killed you,” he said.

“Ori!” Fili snapped, and Ori sat up, dashing the back of his hand across his eyes and looking guilty.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean-- I'm sorry.”

Kili, though, did not seem strongly affected by Ori's talk of death. He simply stared and wept, although Bilbo was not entirely sure he was seeing Ori at all.

“Well,” Ori said, clearing his throat, “anyway, I brought your things back to you. One of the elves was going to throw them away.” And he reached into his bag and pulled out the sheaf of pictures, laying them in Kili's lap, and following them swiftly with the golden harp. “I don't suppose he would have thrown that away,” he added in a mutter.

Bilbo waited hopefully, but Kili made no sign that he had noticed the things Ori had given him, still staring at the other dwarf with that glazed look in his eyes. Finally, Bilbo leaned forward and tapped him on the knee.

“Ori has saved your things for you, Kili,” he said. “What do you say?”

Kili looked at Bilbo and frowned, and Bilbo took his chin in one hand and gently tilted it down until Kili was looking at the pictures. “Ori has saved your pictures again,” he said.

Kili stared at the pictures, and for a moment Bilbo thought it would make no difference to him at all. Then he raised a shaking hand and brushed his fingertips against the paper. Bilbo held his breath, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with Fili, and Kili reached for the harp and lightly touched a string, the delicate, silvery sound reverberating softly in the quiet room.

Then, without warning, Kili crumpled, curling in on himself and pressing both hands to his face, his shoulders suddenly shaking with silent sobs. Fili threw Bilbo a look of some alarm, and Bilbo quickly moved the pictures and the harp to one side and crawled onto the bed, trying to peel Kili's hands away from his face. When he found he could not do so, he instead wrapped his arms around Kili and held him close, murmuring soothing sounds as the little dwarf shuddered against him. And to his amazement, Kili took his hands from his face and clutched instead at Bilbo's back, burying his face in Bilbo's shoulder and sobbing out loud now, breath heaving in his chest. 

“Oh,” Bilbo said, “oh, my lad. There, there. It will all be all right now.”

“Mr. Baggins,” Fili said, and he looked quite distressed now, but Bilbo reached out an arm and pulled him forward, so that he was pressed against Kili's shaking back with Bilbo's hand on the back of his neck.

“It will be all right, now,” Bilbo said. “It will be all right.”

\----

Kili sobbed until he had exhausted himself, and then he fell asleep on Bilbo's shoulder, and when Fili sat back and gently pulled his brother back against his chest, Bilbo saw to his great relief that Kili was truly asleep now, his face pale and drawn, but the tears no longer oozing from his closed eyes. Bilbo smiled at Fili, and Fili smiled back, though he looked quite wrung out.

“Do you think it's over?” he asked hoarsely.

“I don't think it will ever really be over,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “But I think it will get better. I think it is already getting better.”

Kili slept all through the middle of the day, and Bilbo himself fell into a doze towards afternoon. When he woke, the light that suffused the chamber had a golden quality that tellsof the last hour before sunset, and Fili was asleep, his head lolling back in the corner. Kili, though, was awake, watching Bilbo with more alertness that he had since before the orcs had taken him for the second time.

“Why, master dwarf!” Bilbo cried. “You are not weeping!”

Kili did not answer, swallowing in a way that looked rather painful, and Bilbo quickly helped him to drink some of the water that Ori had brought after Kili's sobbing fit had begun. When he had had enough, Kili sat back and watched Bilbo, and Bilbo smiled at him.

“Hello, my lad,” he said. “It is good to see you.”

Kili blinked slowly. “Hello is happy,” he said, his voice ragged and soft. “Is happy see, yes?”

Bilbo all but clapped his hands in delight, breaking out into the broadest of smiles. “Yes!” he said. “Yes, yes, hello means I am happy to see you.”

Kili nodded and leaned back on his brother's chest, looking weary but not closing his eyes.

“Hello, hobbit,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or: 101 ways to say "I love you" in Dwarvish.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, OK, then. Maybe it's going to be four chapters. Er.

On the fourth morning after the battle, Balin appeared in the chamber, his brother standing silent behind him. He looked down at Bilbo, who had been engaged in finishing off his breakfast and wondering when there would be enough food in the mountain for a proper suite of meals, and frowned.

“That coat's seen better days,” he said. “Do you not have anything else to put on?”

Bilbo glanced down at his beloved jacket. The buttons were long gone, now, though he had rigged up a set of hooks and loops that almost did the trick, and what was left of the rich burgundy fabric -- which was not a great deal, for much of the coat was patches now -- was all but invisible under a thick patina of grime and blood. Better days, indeed.

“Er,” he said. “Well, no, I didn't bring my spare dinner suit with me, I'm afraid.”

Balin tutted. “And we won't find anything to fit you here,” he said. 

“No,” Bilbo said, feeling quite confused now, “I don't suppose you will.”

“It is no shame to wear battle clothes, brother,” Dwalin rumbled, and Balin chewed his lip and then nodded once.

“You are right, of course,” he said. “And there is nothing to be done anyway. We can wait no longer. We should not even have waited this long.” He narrowed his eyes at Fili, who sat on the edge of the bed, and Kili, who was propped in the corner. “Can you and your brother walk, laddie?” he asked.

“Slowly,” Fili replied. The two of them had limped around the chamber a few times that morning, Fili groaning with the stiffness of his muscles after so many days holding his brother. “And if it is very far then Kili should be carried.”

Bilbo was about to put in that Fili should be carried, too, because his knee was in an even worse state than Kili's, but Dwalin interrupted his thought.

“He'll want to walk for this,” he said.

“Walk for what?” Bilbo asked.

But nobody answered him.

\----

It was two hours later when Bilbo found himself being led down into the mountain by Balin, Kili leaning heavily on his shoulder while Dwalin assisted Fili. Both the young dwarves were wearing new clothes provided by Dain's men, and although they were neither fine nor rich -- and Kili's were too wide in the shoulders for him -- it was nice to see them both looking mostly clean and presentable, or at least not like they'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. Bilbo, of course, was still dressed in the frankly rather disgusting clothes he had been wearing for months, though he had taken off the jacket after catching sight of himself in a mirror, and he had done his best to clean away the last of the grime from his skin and hair. He still didn't know where they were going, but he was quite used to the secretiveness of dwarves by now, and so he didn't let it worry him overmuch. If nothing else, it was good to get all three of them moving, exercising their sore muscles, and Bilbo simply let himself enjoy the walk.

The enjoyment came to a sudden end, though, when they turned a corner and found Thorin standing before them, dressed in clothes that were almost fine and somehow making them seem like they were fit for a king. Fili stopped suddenly, face darkening, and Kili took a half-step back, bowing his head.

“Thorin,” Fili said stiffly, and perhaps he might have said more -- might, Bilbo thought, have said things that were quite painful and unnecessary -- but Thorin took three steps forward and sank to his knees before his nephews, and that stopped whatever words might have come from any of them, so deeply astonished were they.

“I am sorry,” Thorin said, bowing his head. “I am sorry, my nephews. I hope that one day you may forgive me.”

Kili glanced sideways at Bilbo, looking completely baffled. Fili's mouth was gaping, but a moment later he closed it with a snap, looking mutinous. Balin laid a hand on his shoulder.

“It is not the time, laddie,” he said softly. “You do not have to accept him, but you must put aside your anger now, at least for an hour.”

Fili's jaw tightened, but after a moment he nodded quickly, and Balin turned to Thorin.

“Rise up, my king,” he said. “It is time.”

\----

By this time, Bilbo was quite, quite lost, and so he was surprised to be led inside the very forge that he and Fili and Kili had been clearing of rubble not so many days before. It was lit, now, and the room was sweltering in half-darkness, but Bilbo saw that all the rest of the company were there, stationed around the walls, even Bofur solemn-faced. Kili hesitated on the threshold, staring in some uneasiness at the great fire of the furnace and the many ironworking tools that were laid out on the stone table, but Bilbo gently urged him on, and he stepped inside without further protest. When all were gathered, Dwalin muttered something in Fili's ear, and he frowned, then gently wrapped his arm around his brother, pulling him away so that Bilbo stood alone in the middle of the floor. Bilbo turned to Balin.

“I take it we're finally going to get those wretched chains off, are we?”

“Not yet, laddie,” Balin said. “There is something else that must be done first.”

Bilbo frowned and was about to protest that he could think of nothing more important than finally freeing Kili, but Dwalin gave him a thunderous look and he subsided. The air in the forge seemed thick and heavy with shadows, and Bilbo suddenly had the sense of being in the presence of something very old indeed. 

Balin turned to him, facing him squarely, and cleared his throat. Then he paused.

“You have not forgotten the words?” Thorin asked.

Balin made an irritated face. “I said that this ritual had not been performed for over five hundred years,” he said. “I did not say that I had forgotten the words.” Then he looked up at the ceiling and raised his hands as if in supplication. A moment later he began speaking the dwarven tongue, the broad, earthy sounds rolling and booming around the chamber and seeming to intertwine with the roaring of the great furnace. Bilbo had heard the tongue spoken before, of course, many times, but although it had always seemed solid and serious, now it fell on his ears with an extraordinary majesty, as if it was the voice of the very mountain itself. The hairs began to rise on the back of his neck, and he stared up at Balin and wondered just what it was he was saying.

Balin's voice rose and fell, and the other dwarves stood silent and listening in the shadows, until finally Balin closed his eyes and said one short phrase. This phrase was repeated from all throats bar Bilbo and Kili, and then Balin lowered his gaze to the little hobbit.

“Our ceremonies are not usually performed in the common tongue,” he said. “I'm afraid the translation may be a little unpolished.”

Bilbo shook his head, wide-eyed. He was amazed that the dwarves were allowing him in here at all for what was clearly a very private occasion among this most private of races, and now to hear that there would be a translation for him? He found his confusion growing all the greater.

Balin nodded, and then raised his hands again.

“O mighty Mahal,” he intoned, the words now comprehensible but the tone almost as awe-inspiring as when he had been speaking the dwarvish tongue, “you made the dwarves first-born of Middle Earth. You hewed us from the very rock of the mountains, and we cleave to you until the remaking of the world that forms our bones. We are your only children, and you made us strong as stone, for we have no other kin on which to rely. You bade us keep our counsel and our secrets, and we have done your will with all our hearts.

“O maker, grant us also wisdom to see that there are some few who may be called to you, although they are of flesh and not of stone. We pray that you will accept this one who stands before me now, although he is a Child of Iluvatar. We ask that you remake him of stone and of iron, and that you call him dwarf-friend, for we have seen ourselves in him.”

“This we pray,” he finished, and the assembled dwarves repeated this, while Bilbo, quite astounded now, stood gaping up at Balin.

But Balin now lowered his gaze once more and folded his hands before him. “Bilbo Baggins of the Shire,” he said, “do you consent to stand always at the side of the dwarves as though they were kin, and to call them so in your heart of hearts?”

Bilbo tried to force words past his throat, but there was some kind of obstacle blocking the way, and it took a surreptitious elbow in the ribs from an unseen dwarf to dislodge them. “I do!” he squeaked. “Of course, of course I do!”

Balin nodded solemnly. “And do you swear never to betray our secrets to any who is not dwarf-kind, though you live until the remaking of the world?”

A light began to dawn in Bilbo's mind at that. “Secrets?” he said. “Do you mean the _iglishmêk_? Am I to be allowed to learn it?”

Balin frowned at him, and Bilbo straightened up quickly. “I do,” he said, and then got rather carried away. “My mouth is like a mountain fastness,” he said.

Balin raised his eyebrows. “A simple yes will suffice, Mr. Baggins,” he said, and Bilbo subsided, feeling a little foolish. 

“Well, yes, then,” he said. 

At this, Balin turned to the assembled dwarves. “Who here will vouch for this Child of Iluvatar?” he asked.

Immediately, Dwalin stepped forward. “I am Dwalin, son of Fundin,” he said. “I will vouch for this Child of Iluvatar. He stands with us as kin, though he is flesh and not stone.”

Bilbo felt tears begin to gather behind his eyes, but the ceremony was not yet complete, and now Fili stepped out of the shadows. “I am Fili, son of Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror,” he said. “I will vouch for this Child of Iluvatar. He stands with us as kin, though he is flesh and not stone.”

One by one, then, the dwarves all stepped forward and vouched for Bilbo, and it was all Bilbo could do to keep from weeping openly (which he felt might not be a very dwarvish thing to do and might prejudice his case with Mahal). Finally, after everyone else but Balin and Kili had spoken, Thorin stepped into the firelight, and he looked down on Bilbo with a sober face, but laid a great hand on his shoulder.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror,” he said. “I will vouch for this Child of Iluvatar. He stands with us as kin, though he is flesh and not stone.”

Balin raised his hands again at this. “You have heard our prayer, O Mahal our father,” he said. Then he took a pair of blackened tongs from the stone table and opened the door of the furnace. The blast of heat was quite extraordinary, and Bilbo had to force himself not to step back (another thing he suspected Mahal might not like). Balin drew out a stone cup filled with molten metal, and he poured it into a mould that lay ready on the anvil. Then he began to chant once more in the dwarvish tongue, and now the other dwarves joined in, their deep voices twining around each other in dark, earthen harmonies that seemed to crackle across Bilbo's skin, as if their words brought the very stifling air to life.

When the song was ended, Balin lifted the now solid metal from the mold with the tongs and thrust it into a nearby water butt, steam billowing up with a great hiss. He turned back to the assembled company, and to Bilbo, and he held out the metal. Bilbo saw that is was a small blade, as of a dagger, quite plain and unadorned.

“You may take it,” Balin said. “It will not burn you.”

Marvelling, Bilbo took the blade in both his hands. It was warm to the touch, but not hot, and he bowed a little, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Turn it over, laddie,” Dwalin rumbled, and Bilbo looked around to see that all the dwarves were watching him intently. He turned the blade over, and saw that the other side was etched with dwarvish letters. 

A great murmur went up from the company, then, and Balin's face split into a smile. He clapped Bilbo firmly enough on the back that Bilbo almost staggered.

“We thank you, Mahal, for accepting our petition,” he said, and all the dwarves repeated this. And now Balin took Bilbo by both shoulders. “Welcome, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, dwarf-friend,” he said, “first to bear that title in more than five hundred years.”

And now the other dwarves came forward, too, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand, congratulating him heartily. Fili beamed at him, and even Thorin smiled.

“But what do the letters mean?” Bilbo asked, when he could finally get a word out without his voice cracking.

“It is your dwarvish name,” Fili said. “True name, we call it. You must tell no-one who is not a Child of Mahal.”

“Well, since I can't even read it myself, I don't think that will be a problem,” Bilbo said. “But I have the feeling that there will soon be a lot of things I can't tell anyone who is not a Child of Mahal.”

Fili grinned at this. “That is how you know you are a dwarf!” he said. “And we will teach you to read it, don't worry. We can teach you everything, now.”

Bilbo felt a strong sense of relief at this, for although he knew that Thorin had forgiven him for everything he had done, he had still wondered about the _iglishmêk_ and how the dwarves would cope with that problem. And he turned to Kili to tell him the good news -- for he was sure the little dwarf had understood even less of what was going on than he had -- but saw that he was surrounded by Balin and Dwalin, who were carefully pulling gloves over his hands. He was not resisting them, but his head was bowed and he looked a little too hunched for Bilbo's liking.

“Now, then,” Bilbo said, crossing quickly to the little group and putting a hand on Kili's shoulder. “Do not scare him!”

Fili stood now at his shoulder. “That is dragon hide,” he said, looking at the gloves, and when Bilbo glanced behind him, he saw that the young dwarf's eyes were shining in the light from the furnace.

“Aye, not just any dragon, either,” Dwalin said, and Balin turned to Bilbo.

“We will need you to keep him calm, Mr. Baggins,” he said. 

Bilbo nodded quickly, putting one hand on each side of Kili's face and lifting it so he could meet his eyes. “There is nothing to be scared of,” he said firmly. “The dwarves will not hurt you. They are your friends.”

Kili looked doubtfully from Balin to Dwalin, and then back to Bilbo.

“What happen?” he asked. 

“I don't know,” Bilbo said, and turned to Balin himself. “What is happening?”

Balin stood back, having somehow wrestled the dragon-hide glove so that it was between Kili's manacle and his wrist. “Something you would not have been able to witness, were you not a dwarf-friend, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “It is a coming-of-age ceremony for a prince.”

Bilbo's eyes widened, and Balin gave him a self-deprecating smile. “Somewhat modified, of course,” he said, “but we do what we can. Now, where is that hood!”

\----

It was some minutes before all was prepared for the second ceremony, and Bilbo stayed with Kili throughout, keeping a gentle hand on his arm as Balin and Dwalin wrestled him into a dragon-hide hood. He thought he had some idea of what was coming next, but what form it would take, he was not sure at all, and he hoped Kili would not be too terrified. At last, though, all was prepared, and Bilbo found himself standing once more in front of Balin, though now Balin was facing Kili and Bilbo was merely a bystander. The old dwarf cleared his throat again, and the room fell silent, the air beginning to thicken just as it had before, as if in anticipation of what was to come.

When Balin opened his mouth this time, it was not to speak, nor even to chant, but to sing. His voice was clear and deep, and it echoed in the shadows above them until it seemed that there was a whole army of dwarves singing point and counterpoint. Kili watched him with shining eyes from under his hood, and seemed not in the least frightened, but only awed. Bilbo felt much the same way, the song seeming to thrum in his bones and belly, and he wondered if somehow Mahal _had_ remade him so that the dwarvish language spoke to him as it had not before. 

When the song was done and the echoes had died away, there was a long silence. Then Balin spoke up.

“O mighty maker,” he said, “we present to you this dwarf who was once a child and is a child no longer. He has shown himself worthy in battle and in life, and we ask that you accept him as your own. We ask that you make him strong and steadfast, loyal and courageous, and that when he falls, you bear him to the halls of his fathers, to await the remaking of the world.” He paused a moment, then cleared his throat a little. “And we ask that you keep him safe,” he added. “This we pray.”

“This we pray,” said the dwarves, and this time Bilbo joined in, the words heavy and powerful on his tongue.

“Are there any who would pray for this dwarf?” Balin asked then, and Dwalin stepped forward again. But he did not speak immediately, going instead to the furnace and reaching inside, and Bilbo saw that he was wearing a dragon-hide glove of his own. He drew out a knife, the blade glowing white-hot. It was not of metal, but of stone, and it was so bright it almost hurt to look upon it. Dwalin stepped back to Kili's side and turned to Balin. 

“I am his guardian,” he intoned. “I pray that he will be as steadfast as the stone of the mountain.”

And he took Kili's right wrist in his hand and drew the stone blade across the manacle, pressing down hard. The black orcish metal did not yield at first, but Dwalin kept the blade against it until it began to glow, red first, and then white, and then the blade cut through it like clay. Dwalin laid the blade down and took the manacle in both hands, wrenching it until the gap he had made was large enough to slip it from Kili's wrist. Then he pulled it gently away, letting it fall to the floor with a clang.

“This we pray,” he said, and all voices responded.

Thorin stepped forward, then, taking the glove that Dwalin offered him and going to the furnace, retrieving a second stone blade. “I am his uncle,” he said, his voice gruff with feeling. “I pray that he will be as fierce as the fire of the forge.” And he pressed the blade against the manacle on Kili's left wrist, holding it there until it slipped through to the dragon-hide. He, too, wrenched open the manacle, but he did not merely drop it, flinging it to the floor with great fury on his face and then bowing his head a moment.

“This we pray,” he said, and he was answered fervently.

Fili was third, and when he came back to his brother he laid a hand gently on his shoulder and murmured something in his ear, then laid the blade against the side of Kili's collar. Kili was wide-eyed and sweating, but he did not move, and Bilbo gripped his arm reassuringly.

“I am his brother,” said Fili. “I pray that he will be as mighty as the hammer of Mahal.”

The iron of the collar was thicker and more sturdy than that of the manacles, and it took some time for the blade to melt through it. And when it had, Bilbo saw that there was no way that even a dwarf would be able to wrench it open. But Fili did not try, pressing his forehead against his brother's instead.

“This we pray,” he murmured, and Bilbo had barely finished uttering the words when Fili turned to him and offered the glove. Bilbo blinked in astonishment, but Fili raised his eyebrows, and Bilbo reached out a hesitant hand and took the glove from him. It was too large for his little hobbit hand, of course, and it actually smelt rather dreadful, but Bilbo supposed such things were inevitable for something that was made of the inside of a dragon. He approached the furnace with some trepidation and swung open the door, almost fainting from the heat that assailed him. But there was a sense of something else, too, something more powerful than heat, that seemed to push not just against him but through him, making him aware as he never had been before of the blood coursing through his veins and his heart beating fast in his chest. He swallowed and reached into the fire, amazed that his hand inside the glove felt cool and comfortable, though the rest of him felt rather like it was being grilled. He closed his hand around the handle of the last stone knife that lay on the coals, and then stepped back and swung the furnace door shut with some relief.

All eyes were on him as he moved back to Kili, and he raised the knife and remembered suddenly that he was supposed to say something.

“I am his friend,” he said, and then quickly cleared his throat. “I pray that he will be as cheerful as the sun on the daisies.”

There was a startled snort from somewhere to his right, quickly stifled, and Balin gave him something of a scandalised look. But after all, whether he was a dwarf-friend or not, Bilbo was still a hobbit, and the things he wished for his friend were not the same as the desires that lay dark and heavy in the hearts of dwarves. He did not take his prayer back, but simply pressed the knife against the intact side of Kili's collar, holding it there until the metal finally gave way. Both sides of the collar then dropped from Kili's neck, and Dwalin caught them deftly before the hot metal could touch any part of Kili that was not swathed in dragon hide, and then dropped them to the floor with a great clatter. Kili turned shining, astonished eyes to Bilbo, and Bilbo smiled at him and pressed his hand in its dragon-hide glove. 

“This we pray,” he whispered, and the refrain was taken up with a great roar from all around him. Bilbo himself felt an odd jolt as he spoke the words, as if he had been standing too close to a tree struck by lightning. Then Dwalin and Thorin pulled the gloves from Kili's hands, and Fili pulled the hood from his head and lifted him to his feet. Kili stood, eyes huge in the firelight, and stared at his wrists, naked now and marked only by a thick, white ring of scar tissue. He raised hesitant fingers to his neck and brushed his fingertips against the answering scars that could be seen there, and then he turned to Bilbo, open-mouthed but silent.

“Behold,” Balin said then. “Here is a dwarf who was once a child but is a child no longer. Now he is a dwarf indeed!”

And now Thorin stepped forward, standing by Kili's side and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Behold,” he said. “Here is a prince of Erebor.”

At this, Dwalin sank immediately to one knee. “Behold, a prince of Erebor,” he said. And now Balin knelt, too, and the other dwarves came forward one by one, each murmuring the words as they knelt before Kili. Kili shifted uneasily, glancing at Bilbo, and after a moment he tried to kneel, too, but Fili caught his arm and held him up.

“Not this time, my brother,” he murmured.

And now Bilbo was unsure himself, for he was accounted a dwarf-friend, and he did not know if that meant he should kneel or not. Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, he began to lower himself, but Kili caught urgently at his arm and pulled him back to his feet, shaking his head. Bilbo looked to Thorin, and Thorin smiled at him.

“It is not usual,” he said, “but it is his honour to bestow, if he will.”

And so Bilbo did not kneel, but merely smiled at his friend, and Kili clutched at his arm and stared at the kneeling dwarves with great confusion. And after a moment's silence, Fili cleared his throat.

“On behalf of my brother, I bid you rise,” he said, as if only just realising that Kili would not know the correct words to say.

The dwarves got to their feet, then, and they were all smiles and laughter, the heavy atmosphere of the forge seeming quite drained away as they came one by one to congratulate Kili, though they did not slap his back and shake his hand as they had with Bilbo. Only Fili touched him, standing for a long moment with his forehead pressed against Kili's and his hand laid gently on the back of Kili's neck, as if somehow to prove to himself that the collar was no longer there. But then Thorin stepped forward, and to Bilbo's surprise, he, too, leaned his forehead against Kili's, and Kili did not step back, though his gaze skated away.

“Welcome, my nephew,” Thorin murmured. “Welcome home.”

Bilbo heard Bofur saying something about a feast, which was met with a great deal of cheering and the beginnings of a raucous song, and then the dwarves spilled out of the forge, and Bilbo found himself and Kili standing almost alone in the heat and the sudden, shadowy silence. Only Fili waited for them, a broad smile on his face.

Kili turned to Bilbo, his hands creeping up again to his neck. “Hobbit,” he whispered wonderingly, “iron is gone.”

“Yes, my dear lad,” Bilbo said. “The iron is gone. It will never come back, now. You are free.”

Kili raised his hands and stared at his wrists. “I not understand _free_ ,” he said. 

“This is free,” Fili said, pointing at his wrists. “You do not have to do what other people want you to. You are not a _snaga_ any more.”

“I not _snaga_ ,” Kili said, and then looked at Bilbo. “I dwarf.”

Bilbo laughed at that, and laid a hand on the back of Kili's neck himself, feeling the thick, raised knots of the scar tissue under his palm. “Yes, you are,” he said. 

Fili smiled at his brother and took him by the shoulders. “Behold,” he said. “Here is a dwarf indeed.”


	38. Chapter 38

The feast, as it turned out, was not to be attended only by the company, but also by the dwarves of Dain's army, and the sheer cacophony in the throne room as hundreds of dwarves sat down around blankets set with iron rations and liberally supplied with ale sent up from Lake-Town was quite beyond anything Bilbo had ever heard. The dwarves of Erebor had been drinking ever since the ceremony had been completed in the early afternoon, and what they lacked in number they made up for in boisterousness. The dwarves from the Iron Hills had apparently not been told that the feast was a celebration of Kili's coming of age (and Bilbo's transformation into something rather more dwarvish than perhaps even Gandalf would approve of), thinking only that they toasted the end of the battle, and Bilbo was content with that, not wanting any more attention for himself and certainly none for Kili.

But even with no attention on him, the little dwarf seemed quite unnerved by the large numbers of dwarves, and even after Bilbo and Fili moved him from the pillar they had set him by to a dim corner of the throne room where he could see all of the doors, he remained tense and hunched, hanging his head and watching everything from underneath his hair. Finally, when one of the strange dwarves wandered up and drunkenly tried to talk to him, Fili shook his head at Bilbo, and Bilbo, who was quite ready to leave the feast anyway, stood and tugged the little dwarf to his feet.

“Come on then, my lad,” he said. “Let's go and see if the stars are out.”

He took Kili to the secret door. Dwalin was not there, having returned to the forge before the feast even started, muttering something about making good on a promise, but Bifur stood in his stead, fingering his axe and looking quite terrifying in the light of his single torch. Bilbo nodded quickly at him and shepherded Kili past, thinking that he should ask Balin to find some way of opening the door from the inside so there was no need for a constant guard.

Outside, the sky was deep and black and strung with stars like tiny diamonds. The air was chill, but Bilbo had had the foresight to bring one of the blankets from the throne room, and now he sat beside Kili and wrapped it around both of them. They sat silent for a while, staring up at the stars, and the tension in Kili seemed to slowly drain away, until finally his right hand came up once more to finger the scars on his neck.

“Hobbit,” he said, “Kili have iron?”

Bilbo frowned at him. “No,” he said. “The iron is gone now. It will not come back.”

Kili shook his head. “Before,” he said. “In Ered Lin, Kili have iron?”

“Oh.” Bilbo reached out, tracing the thick band of scars around Kili's left wrist. “No,” he said. “The orcs put the iron on you, Kili. You did not wear it before.”

Kili nodded. “I not remember not have iron,” he said quietly.

Bilbo felt a rather painful lump in his throat, but he swallowed past it resolutely and smiled at Kili. “And how does it feel?” he asked.

Kili brought both hands up now to trace around his throat, his fingertips brushing the scars. “I not heavy,” he said. “Iron is heavy. Now I not heavy.”

Bilbo's smile became genuine at this, and he patted Kili's knee. “Well, that is part of what _free_ means, as well, master dwarf,” he said.

“There you are,” came another voice then, and Bilbo looked up to see Fili slipping out of the secret door. He held his pipe in his hand, and he stood for a moment looking up at the stars. “I can see why you came out here,” he said. “It's beautiful.”

He slid down then to sit on Kili's other side, and threw an arm around his brother's shoulders. Bilbo suspected he was not very sober, and was about to issue a gentle reminder, but to his surprise, Kili seemed not only to be unconcerned by the embrace, but even to lean into it a little. Fili puffed on his pipe contentedly, and Kili stared up at the stars, reaching up to touch his neck every now and again.

The silence had grown long -- though perfectly comfortable -- when Kili turned to Bilbo again.

“Hobbit,” he said, “what Thorin want I give him?”

Bilbo turned this sentence over in his mind a few times. “Did he ask you to give him something?” he said. 

Kili stared at him. “Yes,” he said, though he sounded a little uncertain now. “Asked, before. Before we go in room, big fire. Before iron is gone.”

Bilbo frowned and looked at Fili, but Fili shook his head. 

“I didn't hear it,” he said. “And we have been with him ever since the battle.”

“What did Thorin say exactly?” said Bilbo, wondering if perhaps the dwarf king might have visited Kili while he was sleeping and spoken to him then, though it seemed rather unlikely.

Kili frowned at him now. “You heared,” he said. “You there.” He shook his head. “Say -- sayed some day I give him.”

Fili still looked baffled, but Bilbo was thinking back to that morning, and light dawned. “Oh!” he said. “No, he was asking you to _for_ give him. It is a different word. _Forgive_.”

“Forgive,” Kili said slowly. “What it is mean?”

“Well,” Bilbo started, and then stopped. “It is -- it means when someone has done something bad to you, but you--” He could think of no other way to put it but _you forgive them for it_ , but of course that would not do at all, and he looked rather helplessly at Fili. Fili puffed on his pipe a few times and shrugged. 

“You are the language scholar, Mr. Baggins,” he said, and Bilbo might have been rather irritated, but he recognised from the set of Fili's shoulders and the tightness of his jaw that the mention of Thorin had upset him again, and so he turned back to Kili.

“It is when someone has done something bad to you, but you are not angry with them,” he decided finally. “Thorin behaved very badly before, just before we left the mountain. He is sorry, and that is why he asks you to forgive him.”

Kili shook his head. “Why Thorin want I not angry?” he said. “I not can punish Thorin.”

Bilbo thought about how he might explain this. “It is because he loves you,” he said finally. “When you love someone, it hurts when they are angry with you. Your anger is a punishment in itself.”

Kili sat back at this, staring at Bilbo for a long moment before looking down at his hands. Bilbo allowed him to think about it in silence for a while, for he knew it was not something the little dwarf would find easy to understand. Finally, Kili looked up.

“I not can not be angry,” he said, looking quite troubled. 

Fili's arm tightened around his brother. “You do not have to forgive him,” he said, his voice low, and it was clear he was trying hard to keep his tone even. “That is why he must ask it of you. You do not have to do it just because he asks.”

Bilbo put a hand on Kili's wrist, then, tracing the scars there. “It is like a gift,” he said. “You do not have to give it until you are ready.”

“And perhaps you never will be,” Fili added darkly.

\----

After that, there was a great deal to keep Bilbo occupied. 

The days marched swiftly onwards, the air growing ever more chill outside the mountain, though inside one would hardly know there was such a thing as seasons at all. The elves and men returned to their homes, and many of Dain's dwarves did likewise, along with Dain himself, though some elected to stay and assist with the enormous amount of work that had to be done to begin to restore Erebor. The mountain, though still largely empty, echoed all day with the sound of iron-shod footsteps and dwarvish shouts, the clatter of buckets and tools and the grunts and rumbles of dwarves shifting rubble along the stone corridors. 

Bilbo helped as much as he could -- mostly with the cleaning work -- and Kili took to the labour with gusto. But neither of them had a great deal of time to spare for this, for Balin insisted now that they both have proper lessons in _iglishmêk_ as well as in the dwarvish tongue and alphabet, and when they were not working away at this, Bilbo continued to teach Kili Common, so that by Yuletide they could communicate extremely poorly in two languages and with reasonable facility in a third (and, of course, Bilbo knew a few words of Black Speech, though he thought that now it might be safe to forget these). 

And yet even within the safety of the mountain, surrounded by nothing more terrifying than some rather unruly dwarves and with Kili's shackles long since forged into a wicked-edged sword by Dwalin, the long arms of the orcs still reached out from time to time to grasp at their lost prisoner. Kili had nightmares that seemed only to intensify as winter drew on, and sometimes he withdrew into himself almost completely and would speak to no-one but Bilbo or Fili. His anxiety around large groups showed no signs of disappearing, although he tolerated the dwarves of Thorin's company well enough, and he still rarely asked for anything or made any moves on his own initiative. While it had been relatively easy to deal with these problems on their journey, when there were only a few dwarves to keep track of and only one serious task in mind, now that there was so much occurring, Bilbo and Fili more than once found Kili huddled in a corner which had been quiet when they left him there but was now the scene of some activity, clearly desperately uneasy and yet unable to make his escape. 

It was not until Kili had a fit two weeks before midwinter, though, that Bilbo determined to take action. No-one seemed to know what had brought it on, but the little dwarf disappeared just as surely as he had after their escape from Lake-Town, his eyes blank and staring, and by the time he came to himself almost a day and a night later, Bilbo was ready to tear his hair out in worry and Fili was wide-eyed and pale as though he had not slept for weeks. Neither of them could remember seeing anything strange happen to Kili, but neither of them had been there when he had slipped away from them, either, and it was that which spurred them -- and Bilbo in particular, for he had a great deal more freedom than the young crown prince -- to change their behaviour.

Bilbo took to accompanying Kili almost everywhere, choosing for them the routes that he knew would be the least travelled by others, and taking them out to the secret door as often as he could so that Kili could see the sky. He kept a pile of blankets just within the door, for the winter was chill and biting out here in a way that it rarely was in the Shire, and they wrapped themselves up and sat in the little rocky bay, and Kili would have Bilbo repeat a long list of every irregular past tense verb he could think of, or Bilbo would have Kili show him yet again the subtle differences between _iglishmêk_ words. Both of them struggled with the dwarvish tongue, and while Bilbo picked up the alphabet relatively quickly and was soon able to read his dwarvish name (though of course it cannot be recorded here), Kili seemed quite unable to make any progress at all with writing. He seemed to understand now that the marks represented words, but every attempt to teach him which letters corresponded to which sounds simply led to intense frustration on all sides. And so they practised on, under the wintry sky, and on some days, Bilbo could almost forget that the mountain was not his home at all.

And yet, they were not free to ignore those around them at all times. Reviving a lost kingdom seemed to involve an alarming amount of ceremonies and affairs of state, most of which Bilbo found unutterably tedious and largely incomprehensible, and the number of which seemed to increase by the day as emissaries and well-wishers arrived even in the depths of winter, for since the Battle of the Four Armies travel in the lands around Erebor had become much safer, and thus also faster. For the most part, Thorin and Balin shielded Kili from these engagements, but it was by now common knowledge that there was a second prince of Erebor (though the number of different stories concerning his origins seemed to multiply continually) and on a few occasions Kili's presence was necessary to avoid a major diplomatic incident -- and of course, on these occasions Bilbo attended as well. 

It was after just such an occasion -- the Midwinter Feast, which was attended by almost all the inhabitants of Erebor, although this number was still a tiny fraction of what it had once been before the dragon came -- that Bilbo and Kili found themselves sitting once more outside the secret door in the moonlight, wrapped in blankets -- it would snow again that night, so the older dwarves insisted -- and staring at the stars. Bilbo had brought his pipe and was puffing away, thinking from time to time about how much colder the stars seemed here than in his little green home, but mostly content not to think about much at all. Kili was silent, but Bilbo was not concerned for him -- he did not like feasts in the slightest, but Thorin, against all tradition, had had the high table placed in a corner of the banquet hall, so that Kili could sit against the wall between his brother and Bilbo and see everything that was happening in the room, and they had devised a signal that Thorin could give when it was acceptable for the two of them to slip away, and these measures seemed to have resulted in a generally less unpleasant experience for all involved. 

“Are you sure you would not like to try the pipe, at least?” Bilbo asked. “It's very relaxing, you know.”

Kili shook his head. He had tried a tankard of ale once, perhaps two weeks after they had retaken Erebor, and afterwards he had grown quiet and pale and had barely spoken all night, and for weeks afterwards he had been very cautious about what he ate and drank, which was not at all like him. Pipeweed he completely refused, although Bilbo really did think it would do him some good and Fili had even given him a beautiful carved pipe.

“Well,” Bilbo said, “I shall have to smoke enough for both of us, then.” And he blew a perfect smoke ring and smiled as Kili watched it float away, silvery in the moonlight. But then the little dwarf bowed his head, and Bilbo saw that his expression was troubled.

“What is it, my lad?” Bilbo asked. “Is something the matter?”

“Kili did smoke pipe,” Kili said. “Did smoke pipe, yes? I see in pictures.”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I believe you used to smoke a pipe, though I did not know you then, of course.” He was used now to the little dwarf's way of referring to the younger self he could not remember, and had even caught himself doing the same once or twice, which on one occasion had caused a rather difficult argument with Fili. 

Kili thought about this for a moment, then held his hand out. “Yes,” he said. “I smoke. If -- if hobbit not mind?”

Bilbo smiled at this, for it was rare enough that Kili asked him for anything. “Be my guest,” he said, and put the pipe into his hand. Kili put it cautiously to his lips. “Slowly now,” said Bilbo, but even so the first breath had Kili coughing and gasping for air, his eyes watering. Bilbo thumped him on the back and made encouraging noises, but once Kili had recovered he quickly held the pipe out towards Bilbo again and shook his head. Sighing, Bilbo took it from him.

“It takes a little getting used to,” he said. “You just need to practise.”

“Need practise everything,” Kili muttered, seeming suddenly sunk in gloom. Bilbo frowned, putting the pipe back into his own mouth and patting Kili's arm.

“Now I know there is something the matter,” he said. “Come on, lad, out with it. Did something happen at the feast?” 

Kili did not answer for a moment, but then he shook his head. “Sometimes,” he said, and then took a deep breath and fell silent. Bilbo squeezed his arm and waited, for he recognised the sign that Kili was trying to produce a complex thought. Finally, Kili nodded to himself. “Sometimes dwarfs, they look me and not see,” he said. “They not see me, they see Kili. They want Kili.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, and all the peaceful feeling of a few minutes before disappeared as if it had never been, for he could not deny the truth of this. All the dwarves had known Kili before, and it was clear from the pictures and the stories they sometimes -- rarely -- told that he had been rather different then. He had no doubt that sometimes they missed the cheerful, boisterous young dwarf that they had known so long ago. But he cursed the fact that Kili had noticed -- though he could hardly be surprised, for Kili had always paid a great deal of attention to what others said and did, and the more he came to understand dwarven culture, the more incisive his observations became. “Oh, my poor dear lad. They do not mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” Kili said, his eyes dark in the moonlight as he stared at Bilbo. “I not angry. Am not angry.” He shrugged, but his fingers came up almost convulsively to touch his neck. “Kili is gone, they want see him. I understand.” He paused a moment, then turned to look up at the stars. “I want be Kili,” he said quietly. “Be Kili, make dwarfs happy. But not can remember. Try, always try, but not can.”

Bilbo shuffled round so he was facing Kili more squarely, putting a hand on his wrist and waiting until the little dwarf gave him his full attention. “Kili,” he said, slowly and clearly, “if Gandalf came to me tomorrow and told me he could give you all your memories back, and the only cost would be that the person you are now would disappear, I would say no. I would say no, my lad.”

Kili watched him, his face revealing nothing of what he was thinking. Bilbo smiled and patted his arm. “I would say no,” he repeated.

“Hobbit is only one,” Kili said then. “Only one see only me.”

“Now, master dwarf,” Bilbo said, “I cannot deny that your friends loved you before the orcs took you. But they love you now, too. They love you very much.”

Kili stared at him unblinking for a moment. Then he looked away, and Bilbo knew that he had not succeeded in reassuring him, at least not entirely. He sighed and tried to think of another way to convince him, but then Kili spoke up again.

“How long we stay in mountain?” he said.

Bilbo was a little surprised by this rapid change of subject, but he gamely tried to keep up. “The mountain is your home,” he said. “You will stay here for the rest of your life, if that is what you want.”

Kili frowned, tracing the scars on his left wrist with his right forefinger. “How long is rest of life?” he asked.

Bilbo thought about this. “Well,” he said, “you are a dwarf, and I think you are almost eighty years old. So that means--” he stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he performed the calculations “--almost two hundred years, if nothing unfortunate happens.”

“Two hundred?” Kili asked, and Bilbo nodded. Kili looked discontented at this. “Long time,” he said.

“Long indeed,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “Lots of time to do whatever you want!”

Kili's mouth twitched, but he looked back down at his wrists. The decidedly unpleasant thought crossed Bilbo's mind that Kili seemed to be unhappy to hear that he would live for many more years, and he leaned forward, a ripple of cold in his stomach that had nothing to do with the taste of snow in the air.

“It is good, Kili,” he said. “It is good that you are still young. You still have so much ahead of you.”

“Yes,” said Kili, though he did not sound very happy about it. “Many year, long time in mountain.”

Bilbo was about to press this further when the door creaked open and Fili stepped out, as he almost always did not long after Bilbo and Kili had arrived there, if he could get away from his other responsibilities. 

“Hello, you two,” he said, and dropped down to sit beside Kili, his arm automatically going around Kili's shoulders, for somewhere between being taken by the orcs a second time and having his shackles removed, Kili seemed to have lost all aversion to his brother's touch and even perhaps to enjoy it. “I don't blame you for running away, my brother. Those were quite the long-winded speeches, and no mistake!”

Kili frowned at him. “Thorin said I can go,” he said. “Not run away.”

“Ah, no,” Fili said easily, ruffling Kili's hair. “I did not mean that at all. But I only wish I had a signal of my own that would let me escape from all these engagements!” 

“You obviously did escape, though,” Bilbo said, and then had something of an idea. “But why did you come out here, Fili? Surely there is much more excitement at the feast than up here on this freezing mountainside.”

“Well, I came to see my brother, of course,” Fili said. “And you, too, Mr. Baggins,” he added hastily.

“I see,” Bilbo said, prodding Kili in the side to make sure he was listening. “And why did you wish to see your brother?”

Fili frowned at him, then. “He is my brother,” he said. “I missed him. We spend little enough time together now as it is.” He gave a discontented sigh and tightened his arm around Kili's shoulders.

Bilbo smiled. “Do you see, my lad?” he said to Kili. “Your brother missed you. He came here because he missed _you_.”

Fili looked quite confused, now, and not a little concerned. “Has something happened?” he asked, but when Bilbo only shrugged and nodded at Kili, Fili turned to look properly at his brother. “I always miss you when you're not there,” he said.

Kili did not speak, but he looked from Fili to Bilbo and his eyes seemed to shine a little in the moonlight. 

“Do you understand?” Bilbo asked.

Kili stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I understand,” he said, and then ducked his head and spoke again, very quietly.

“Thank you, hobbit.”

\----

The first caravan from Ered Luin arrived unlooked-for a month after midwinter. They had set off as soon as they heard the dragon was dead, and because they had not had to hide their purpose, and because the numbers of goblins and orcs were so greatly reduced after the Battle of the Four Armies, they had made excellent time, and even, so they told it, been escorted through the northern pass of the Misty Mountains by a great man who seemed sometimes to be a bear, and down the Forest River by some rather grim-faced elves. Indeed, it seemed there was much more of friendship among the free peoples of Middle Earth in those days than there had been for many years, although there was still a great deal of grumbling on all sides about the strange habits of other races.

And so it was that Bilbo was passing through the great hall with Kili when he heard a great shout and saw Fili break away from a group of dwarves and stride across the room, almost running. And when he turned to see what the young dwarf's target was, he saw at once a dwarf that he recognised from many of Ori's pictures, though he had never seen her before. 

“Oh,” he breathed, and took Kili's arm. “Look, my lad. It is your mother.”

And indeed it was, Thorin's younger sister Dis, dressed in mud-spattered travelling clothes and her hair and beard somewhat in disarray, and yet every inch a noblewoman, her proud bearing making her seem finer than if she had been arrayed all in brocade and jewels. And now she called Fili's name, and he flew into her arms, burying his face in her hair. And she, for her part, grasped him tight to her bosom with a look of great relief, and even perhaps cried a few tears into his golden braids.

But she was a dwarf woman, and of Durin's line at that, and soon she had regained control of herself and held her son at arm's length, looking him up and down and reaching a hand to smooth his braids back into place.

“Well, my son,” she said, with something like a frown, “it seems Erebor agrees with you. You look happier than I have seen you in years.”

“Oh, mother,” Fili said, “it is not Erebor. There is something else. But have you heard no news of us on the road?”

“Only that the battle was won,” Dis said, “and that the king and prince survived it. But what else could matter to me?”

Bilbo looked up at Kili, then, and saw that he was staring at his mother with a frown on his face. “Do you remember her now?” he asked, but Kili shook his head.

“See her in pictures,” he said. “Kili's mother.”

“Your mother,” Bilbo said firmly, and then pushed the little dwarf forward a few steps. “Go on, she will be so happy to meet you.”

The movement caught Dis' eye, and she glanced over and then stopped, her eyes growing round. Fili followed her line of sight and smiled, beckoning to his brother, but Kili seemed frozen in place, and even another gentle shove from Bilbo could not get him moving.

“Fili,” Dis whispered, clutching at her son without looking at him, “is that a shade?”

“No, mother,” Fili said. “It is your son.”

At this, Dis covered her mouth with one hand, making a noise that seemed halfway between a sob and a hysterical laugh. She stumbled forward one step, two, and then Bilbo pushed Kili forward again, a little harder this time, and Kili took two hesitant steps and stopped. But where her son was unsure, Dis was not, and she covered the last of the space between them and caught Kili up in her arms, clinging to him in a desperate embrace that bore them both to their knees with its ferocity. 

“My son,” she whispered into his neck. “My son, o my son, you are come back to me.”

Kili's eyes slid sideways to Bilbo, and he looked like he wanted to ask a question, but he did not speak. Bilbo mimed an embrace and raised his eyebrows, and Kili's arms came up hesitantly to wrap around his mother's back. Bilbo smiled and nodded, and Kili rested his chin on her shoulder and closed his eyes. Dis seemed to clutch Kili to her even more tightly at this, weeping now into his neck and whispering his name over and over, and Bilbo felt a presence at his own shoulder and looked around to see Fili standing there watching the two of them, a rather tearful smile on his own face.

“It will be all right now, Mr. Baggins,” he said. “I think it will be all right now.”

“Yes, master dwarf,” Bilbo said absently, for he was thinking of his own mother, who had been dead for many years and lay under the green grass far away to the west. “I'm sure you are right.”


	39. Chapter 39

Since his parents died, Bilbo Baggins had been a rather solitary hobbit. It was not that he had no other family -- hobbits, of course, are almost all related to each other in some way, though often quite distantly, and he had many cousins all over the Shire, Bagginses of course but also Tooks and Brandybucks, to name just two branches of his sprawling family. But Bilbo, unusually for a hobbit, had no brothers or sisters, and although he had never really felt the lack, it had nonetheless left him rather alone in his large, comfortable hobbit hole for many years until the day he opened his door to find Dwalin standing on his doorstep. 

It was not that he had not enjoyed this solitude, either. Bilbo was a friendly little hobbit, as almost all hobbits are, and he certainly enjoyed good company (especially when accompanied by good food), but he had grown rather accustomed to his quiet life over the years, and had been privately of the opinion that the hobbit holes of most of his relatives, overflowing with children and cousins as they were, were rather something to be pitied than envied. Indeed, if you had told him in those days that he would one day be content -- even happy -- to be followed around all day and sometimes all night by a strange little dwarf who could barely even speak his language and had been known to make unsettling remarks about eating people, he would have laughed in your face. 

And even so, in the weeks following the arrival of Dis at Erebor, Bilbo found himself facing a rather unfamiliar feeling. He was lonely.

It was not that he did not spend time with Kili any more -- they still had some lessons together, though not as many as before. But their more casual talks and the hours Bilbo had been used to spend teaching Kili Common had been severely curtailed, for Dis spent many hours every day wandering the byways of Erebor with her son. Bilbo certainly did not begrudge her that time -- she was his mother, after all, and she had lost him for so many years -- and what was more, she had graciously invited him to join them whenever he cared to. But he felt that he would have been intruding on something private, and so he sent his apologies, and thus he found himself alone more often than not, or, if not alone, then not with Kili. There had been times over the past few months when Bilbo would have dearly loved to have a little more time for himself, but now that he had that luxury, he found that he no longer wanted it.

But it was not merely unaccustomed loneliness that troubled Bilbo at this time, for when he did see Kili, the little dwarf seemed even quieter than usual. At first, Bilbo hoped that he was merely thinking deeply about the things he was learning from his mother, but as the cold heart of winter passed and the days began to slowly lengthen, he seemed to be more subdued every time Bilbo saw him, until on some days Bilbo was lucky to coax a word out of him at all. 

So it was to his great astonishment -- but also to his genuine pleasure -- that Bilbo found Kili outside the secret door one day in late February, frowning down at a slate that was covered in dwarvish letters with a look of great frustration on his face. There was no-one else there, and Bilbo sat down next to Kili and offered him a blanket, for it seemed he had not thought to bring any out with him.

“Hello there, Kili,” he said. “I did not expect to see you here! What brings you out into the cold?”

Kili looked up at him, and then nodded upwards.

“Sky,” he said. “Not see sky five days.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said. He frowned now at Kili, for the poor little dwarf looked pale and rather thin, and there were dark smudges under his eyes as if he had not slept properly for some days. “Are you all right, my lad?” he asked.

Kili made a growling noise and flung down the chalk he was clutching. “I not understand,” he said. “Why I not can understand writing?”

Bilbo peered at the slate. There were rows of neat words in Balin's careful hand, and underneath, Kili had tried to copy them, but it seemed he could not distinguish one letter from another, for he had made only a series of vertical marks with horizontal bars distributed among them apparently at random.

“I don't know,” Bilbo finally admitted, for it was clear to him after months of watching Kili struggle that the problem was not merely one of lack of practice. “Perhaps it is something to do with what the orcs did to you?”

Kili's hand went to his neck. “Yes, orcs,” he muttered. “Kili knew how write. Orcs break my head, not can be real dwarf.”

“Now, that is just ridiculous, my lad,” Bilbo said firmly. “Being a real dwarf has nothing to do with being able to write. Do you have the ears or do you not?”

Kili scowled at him a moment, then reached up to touch the tips of his ears. He looked away from Bilbo, frowning down at the slate.

“Hobbit,” he said, “what is _mad_ mean?”

Bilbo felt a twinge of unease at this question, but he endeavoured to answer it nonetheless. “It is -- it is when someone's head is not right,” he said. “Like your uncle just before we left the mountain.”

Kili nodded at this, as if something had become clear to him. “Yes,” he said. “Mad.”

“But Kili, where did you hear this word?” Bilbo asked. “It is not a polite one to use, and I hope you will remember that.”

“Men come from lake,” Kili said. “Call me _mad prince_.”

“What?” Bilbo said, and he was suddenly absolutely furious. “They called you that to your face?”

“No, not face,” Kili said. “I hear.” He shrugged. “Hear many things.” He pointed at his ears. “Dwarf ears,” he said.

“Well, that was a cruel and ignorant thing for them to say,” Bilbo said heatedly. “And if I find out who they were I will -- I will box their ears, you see if I don't!”

Kili was frowning at him now. “Why hobbit angry?” he said.

“Because those men should never have said such a thing!” Bilbo cried. “It was very wrong of them!”

Kili shook his head, now, looking quite confused. “Men not wrong,” he said. “ _Mad_ is head is not right, yes? Men not wrong.”

Bilbo scowled at Kili, and then tried very hard to rearrange his expression a little, for after all, it was not the little dwarf he was angry with. “You are not mad, Kili,” he said firmly. “Your head is perfectly all right.”

Kili stared at him in silence, and Bilbo patted his arm and tried to smile. But then it was Kili's turn to look furious.

“Hobbit not understand,” he said. “Not can sleep. Dreams bad, all bad, see _kulshodaru_ , see bad things. Scared, always scared.” He shook his head, voice rising now. “Go away sometimes, not know why, cry and not can stop. Not can write, not understand marks. Why not understand marks if head is right?” And here he raised his slate and thrust it at Bilbo, jabbing a finger at the malformed letters, and then flung it down so hard that it cracked in two. He flinched violently at the sound and wrapped his arms around himself, hunching his shoulders and dropping his head so that his hair covered his face.

Bilbo was quite taken aback by this outburst, and he felt a wrench of pity, along with worry and guilt. “Oh,” he said, stroking Kili's arm. “Oh, my poor dear lad. I am so sorry. I am so sorry that this is all so difficult for you.”

Kili didn't respond to this, and Bilbo put a gentle hand under his chin and lifted it so he could look him in the eye.

“Those men were stupid and did not know what they were talking about,” he said firmly. “You are not mad.”

Kili looked away. “I not -- I not --” He blew out a breath in frustration. “What is word _not mad_?”

“Sane,” said Bilbo, and Kili nodded.

“I not sane,” he said miserably. 

“Well,” Bilbo said, “I hardly think you are any less sane than any of your friends. What about your brother, who went running out into the wildlands on his own to see if he could find a pack of orcs to kill? Or your uncle, who thought it was a good idea to take on a dragon with only twelve dwarves and a hobbit burglar who had never burgled anything in his life before? Or the hobbit who followed that very uncle right into the dragon's den?” He smiled and patted Kili's arm. “You may be the sanest one of us all, my lad.”

Kili did not look very convinced by this, but he uncurled himself a little and leaned back against the cliff, tipping his head back to look at the sky. Bilbo watched him, feeling really quite worried, but Kili did not seem to be interested in continuing their conversation. Instead, as so often, he changed the subject.

“Hobbit,” he said, “why we stay in mountain two hundred years?”

“The mountain is your home,” Bilbo said. 

“I know, I know, mountain home,” Kili said, but then he shook his head. “Not understand _home_.”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo said. “Well, it is--” But although he could think of any number of definitions of _home_ , none of these applied to what Erebor was for Kili. Finally, he sighed. “It is where you live,” he said, although this he knew was not really a good explanation at all. “Was there not a place you used to always go back to with the orcs?”

Kili thought about this. “No,” he said. “Orcs always move. Go to mountain, go to forest, go to -- big lake, not can drink water.”

“The sea,” Bilbo said. “You have been to the sea?” He had never seen a body of water larger than the Long Lake himself, but he had heard that the sea was a sight indeed.

“Yes, sea,” Kili said. “Move, move, move, always move.”

“Well, but do you not want to stay still now, Kili?” Bilbo asked. “You don't have to move any more. You can stay still in your home and rest.”

Kili grimaced. “Hobbit want stay in mountain two hundred years?” he asked.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, “but the mountain is not my home, master dwarf!”

Kili frowned. “Hobbit say mountain home,” he said. “Say always, mountain home.”

“It is your home,” Bilbo said, pointing at Kili. “My home is somewhere else entirely, somewhere quite far away. It is where the other hobbits live.” And he pointed westwards, as if they would be able to see it if they screwed up their eyes.

Kili looked quite astounded by this, though whether it was by the idea that Bilbo had a home somewhere else or by the idea of the existence of other hobbits, Bilbo did not know. “Hobbit not mountain home?” he said, tripping over the words a little in his confusion.

“No,” Bilbo said. “The mountain is not my home.”

“How you know?” Kili asked then. “How you know home is not mountain, home is far away?”

“Well,” Bilbo said, “I know because I want to go there. Because that is where I feel safe. And -- and I was born there. I grew up there. I lived there always, until I met your uncle last year.”

Kili looked quite perplexed by all this, and Bilbo smiled at him and patted his knee. 

“Let me tell you something about my home,” he said.

And so he spoke of wild flowers and green hills, of gentle breezes and snow that fell light and fluffy, and not driving and hard as in the lands around Erebor. He spoke of his home in the hillside, and his neighbours and cousins, and of market day and the mathom house in Michel Delving and the ale at the Green Dragon. And when he had finished talking, Kili was watching him with a rather wondering look on his face that was not dissimilar to the one he had worn when Balin and Thorin had been telling stories in Lake-Town.

“I like see it some day, hobbit,” he said finally. “Like see where you are made.”

Bilbo chuckled a little at that. “And I would like to see where you were made, too, my lad,” he said. “Ered Luin, of course,” he added, in case Kili thought he meant the haunts of the orcs.

“Ered Luin,” Kili said, looking down at his hands a moment. Then he nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I like see Ered Luin, too.”

“Well,” said Bilbo, leaning back against the cliff and pressing his shoulder against Kili's, “perhaps some day we shall.”

\----

It was perhaps a week later when Dis came to see Bilbo.

Bilbo found himself quite flustered by her visit, clearing a heap of papers from the only comfortable chair he had managed to procure for himself and automatically offering her tea even though there was no kettle in the little chamber he had been assigned, nor yet a stove to put it on. But Dis waved away his concerns and leaned forward, face grave.

“Mr. Baggins,” she said. “We have not spoken overmuch since I came here, and for that I must apologise. I have been so concerned with my sons that I have not made the time I should have to get to know our new dwarf-friend.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, waving a hand, “that is quite understandable! Of course you wanted to be able to spend all your time with Kili.”

“Yes, Kili,” Dis said. “I must thank you again, Mr. Baggins, for finding him and for helping him so very much. I cannot express how indebted I am to you.”

Bilbo blushed a little, though in truth almost every conversation he had had with Dis so far had consisted in her expressing her undying gratitude, and he was beginning to find it rather exhausting. “Well, I should thank you for raising him so well,” he said without really thinking about it, for it was a common thing to say to hobbit mothers. Then he squeaked a little at Dis' pained face and tried to save himself. “I mean, his good breeding shows through even though -- even though--” he said, and Dis shook her head.

“It is no matter,” she said. “I wish I could say I have come to give you something in return, but I am afraid I come as a supplicant to ask you one favour more.”

“Anything,” Bilbo said immediately. “Well, er, although if it involves another dragon I might have to think about it a little bit.”

“No dragons,” Dis said. “I only ask your opinion, and that you give it honestly.” She looked meaningfully at Bilbo, her eyes serious and piercing, and Bilbo felt rather like he was having a conversation with a rather less irritable version of Thorin. 

“Of course,” he said, subsiding into one of the uncomfortable contraptions dwarves liked to call chairs. 

Dis drew a deep breath. “My son is much changed,” she said. “Of course, I understand the reasons for this, or at least, as far as I can. But it seems to me he is changing still, and not for the better.”

Bilbo frowned at this, but he did not interrupt. 

“I do not think he is recovering,” Dis said with a sigh, looking down at her hands where they were linked before her. “In fact, I think his -- condition may be worsening. I have asked Fili, and he agrees, but he tells me that you are the creature that understands my youngest son best in the world, and that if any know the truth of it, it must be you.” She looked up now at Bilbo, pinning him with her solemn gaze. “So tell me, Mr. Baggins: what is your mind on this matter?”

Bilbo paused a moment before answering, gathering his thoughts together with care, for it seemed to him that this dwarf who sat before him thought long and deeply, and he wished to do her the same courtesy. She showed no sign of impatience, but simply waited in silence, and finally Bilbo nodded to himself.

“I think the mountain is not good for him,” he said. “It is too crowded and noisy and too -- too dark. He likes to see the sky.” He paused, waiting for protest, for Kili was a dwarf, after all, and it made no sense for there to be a dwarf who did not like it inside mountains. But Dis did not speak, merely watched and waited for him to continue. “I think--” Bilbo said, and then shook his head. “I think you are right. He is not getting better, not any more.”

Dis sat back, her face sombre. “I am sorry to hear you say that,” she said. “But now tell me, Mr. Baggins: what can I do?”

Bilbo paused a moment before answering, because he did not know this dwarf well, and he was not sure quite how she would take his answer. “There is something I have thought of a time or two,” he said. “But I'm not sure you will want to do it.”

Dis drew herself up proudly at this. “If you suppose that there is any task so unpleasant I would not take it on to help my sons, you are much mistaken in me,” she said.

Bilbo nodded slowly. “Well, then,” he said, and drew a deep breath.

\----

They met with Thorin in the hidden council room behind the great throne. Dis brought Kili with her, and settled him in a corner with infinite gentleness. Bilbo came alone, and Fili appeared a few minutes later. Thorin raised his eyebrows to see them thus arrayed against him, but he did not speak, and after a moment's awkward silence, Bilbo stepped forward.

“Thorin,” he said, “I want to go home.”

Thorin looked like he had not expected this at all. For a moment, he looked like he might protest, but then he simply nodded gravely. “You are not a prisoner,” he said. “Far from it. But you know you may stay as long as you wish.”

“I know,” Bilbo said, “and I do thank you for your hospitality, but -- well, I miss my home.”

Thorin leaned forward on the stone table, spreading his fingers and looking for a moment at them and not at Bilbo. “I understand,” he said finally. “You will have anything you need for the journey, and anything else you might want.”

“Well, there is one thing I do want, actually,” Bilbo said, and Thorin looked up.

“Name it,” he said.

“I want Fili and Kili to come with me,” Bilbo said.

Thorin's eyebrows shot up at that, and Bilbo found himself raising his hands in a placatory gesture. “Just for a visit!” he said. “Kili wants to see my home, and Fili-- Fili--”

“I will make sure nothing happens to either of them,” Fili said, stepping forward and squeezing Bilbo's shoulder.

Thorin stared in astonishment at the two of them, and then his eyebrows came down and he shook his head.

“It is out of the question,” he said.

“Why?” Fili asked, with a rather more confrontational tone than perhaps was required. “Has not our Mr. Baggins done enough to warrant granting him this small request?”

Thorin looked rather incredulous at this. “It is no small thing,” he said. “You have duties here, and your brother only now begins to become accustomed to the mountain. It would be folly to uproot him now.”

“He does not become _accustomed_ ,” Fili said sharply. “He hates the mountain, uncle! Anyone can see that!”

Thorin's face grew thunderous now. “The mountain is his home,” he said, and there was a warning in his voice. “It is his kingdom.”

“It is his prison,” Fili, and Bilbo sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fili, have a care,” he murmured, but Fili apparently had no care at all.

“Have you been paying no attention at all, uncle?” he said, and he was shouting now. “Do you not see how he fades away? He does not sleep, he does not speak, he has not remembered anything new for months. Is it better for us to be the cause of it than the elves or the orcs, because we do it to protect him?”

“Fili,” Dis said sharply, but it was too late, for Thorin had straightened up now, and there was fury in his eyes.

“And what would you have me do instead?” he asked. “Allow him to leave his people, leave his home? And have you forgotten what happened the last time he left this mountain?”

“And whose fault was that?” Fili roared, and there was a sudden, shocked silence. Thorin looked stricken, and even Fili seemed a little surprised at himself, for he subsided slightly. “Whose fault was that?” he said again, but quieter now.

“It was my fault,” Thorin said, then, and his voice was deep with grief. “I would take it back in an instant if I could. But the fault was mine.”

“I give you,” said another voice now, and they turned to see that Kili had risen from his corner and stood now just outside the little circle they had formed, staring at Thorin. 

Thorin stared back. “What do you give me?” he asked.

“I give you,” Kili said again, and shot Bilbo a worried glance. “It is right? I not angry?”

“You forgive him,” Bilbo murmured, and Kili nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “I forgive you.”

“Kili,” Fili said, “you do not know what you're saying.”

“No,” Kili said, looking now at his brother, “I understand. I not angry Thorin. Thorin's head not right, not did want hurt. I forgive.” 

Thorin stared at Kili as if he could not quite believe what he was hearing. “You forgive me?” he asked.

Kili nodded. “Hobbit say it is gift,” he said. “I give to you.”

“It is the greatest of gifts,” Thorin said, his voice hoarse with wonder. “Thank you, my nephew.” And he bowed his head, and Bilbo saw to his astonishment that a tear rolled down his cheek.

Dis stepped forward then, brushing a gentle hand across Kili's shoulder as she passed, and crossing to stand in front of her brother, taking his face in her hands and pressing his forehead to hers. It was so like the picture that Ori had drawn that Bilbo felt a shiver down his spine, and Thorin reached up and pressed his hands to his sister's neck and closed his eyes. But when Dis pulled away, she did not let go of Thorin, but looked into his eyes with her serious gaze.

“You have tried,” she said. “I know how hard you have tried, my brother. I know how hard we have all tried. But it is not enough. Kili is not ready for this life, for this mountain. Not yet.”

“He is safe here,” Thorin said, and Dis nodded.

“Aye,” she said. “But he is not happy.”

Thorin closed his eyes a moment, and Dis pulled him in again, leaning her forehead against his.

“There is one more thing you can do for him, my brother,” she said. “One more thing that is within your power, and I would not ask if it were not needed, for it pains me greatly to say it.”

“Then do not say it,” Thorin said quietly, but Dis shook her head.

“I must,” she said. “You know I must.” 

Thorin stepped back, then, letting his hands fall from her face. “You know I cannot deny you, my sister,” he said. “If you ask it, I will grant it.”

“Then let him go,” Dis said, and she did not weep, but there was a rich strain of mourning in her voice. “Just for a little while, dear brother. Let him go.”

Thorin stared at her, then looked quickly at Fili and more lingeringly at Kili. The silence stretched out, and Bilbo held his breath. Then Thorin passed a hand quickly over his eyes.

“Aye,” he said. “I will let him go.”

\----

They set off on a cheerful morning in late March, when spring was most definitely in the air and even the mountain looked slightly less sombre than usual. It was a quiet leave-taking, for there had been no fanfare about their journey and most of the inhabitants of Erebor -- swelled greatly now by continuous arrivals from Ered Luin -- did not even know the princes were going anywhere. Only the members of their little company were there, along with Dis, and one by one they stepped up to say their goodbyes. Bilbo had never been hugged by quite so many dwarves in succession, and his ribs became quite sore before it was even half over. Bofur gave him a cheery smile, and Dwalin grunted in a way that sounded almost friendly, and even Bifur looked a little less terrifying than usual. 

When Ori stepped forward, he had a piece of paper in his hand. “I've drawn you a picture to take with you,” he said to Kili, and held it out. 

Kili took it immediately. “Thank you, Ori,” he said, and turned it over, then frowned. “What it is?” he said after a moment. “Is Kili?”

Bilbo craned his neck and saw that it was a picture of Kili and Ori standing in front of Erebor. Ori was clapping Kili on the back, and Kili was smiling, but Bilbo could see why the little dwarf was having trouble interpreting it, for it did not quite seem to be the same Kili that appeared in so many of the pictures from Ered Luin. This Kili seemed much more contained, quieter, somehow, though Bilbo had no idea how one picture could seem quieter than another.

“It's you,” Ori said. “It's a picture of you coming back from the Shire. It hasn't happened yet.”

Kili stared at the picture, brushing his fingertips over his own smiling face. “How you know?” he asked.

“I don't,” Ori said. “It's what I hope will happen.” 

Kili looked rather thoughtful at this, but finally he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Is good picture. I hope, too.”

“Well, I will miss you,” said Ori, and Kili nodded again.

“Yes,” he said. “I miss, too.”

And finally, it was the turn of Thorin and Dis. Dis pressed her forehead to Fili's and Kili's in turn, and then stepped back and held out a hand to each of them, opening them to show a silver hair ornament on each of her palms.

“These belonged to my mother's father and his beloved brother,” she said. “I give them now to you. They have never been parted for long, and I hope they never may again.”

Fili smiled, taking the ornament from his mother's hand and fixing it quickly in his hair. “Thank you, mother,” he said, and then took the other and smirked at his brother.

“Well, we will finally have to do something with that mop you call hair,” he said, and then swiftly caught up the front part on each side and pinned them back behind. “Is it everything you hoped?” he asked his mother.

Dis raised her eyebrows at him, then fussed a little with Kili's hair. “It is better than it was,” she finally pronounced, and pressed a swift kiss to Kili's forehead. Kili's eyes widened a little, and he reached up, brushing his fingers quickly across the site of the kiss.

“Thank you, Fili,” he said, and then, rather shyly, “thank you, mother.”

Dis smiled warmly at him. “You are most welcome, my beloved Kili,” she said, and if there was a catch in her voice, she did an excellent job of concealing it. She turned then to Bilbo.

“Mr. Baggins,” she said. “I know that I could ask for no better friend to my sons. Look after them, I beg you.”

Bilbo nodded, feeling rather overcome. “Of course,” he said. “Of course I will.”

And now, at last, Thorin stepped forward. He did not speak, but Bilbo suddenly found himself caught up in the most bruising embrace he had yet experienced. It was rather like being hugged by a bear, but it was over almost as soon as it began, and so Bilbo did not have time to become seriously injured. Thorin set him down and stepped back, giving him a nod, and Bilbo nodded back gravely as if he, too, were a serious dwarven king and not a silly little hobbit at all. 

Thorin turned then to his nephews. He touched his forehead to Kili's, his eyes closed and his hands cradling Kili's face, and to Bilbo's astonishment, Kili reached up after a moment and pressed his own palms one on each side of Thorin's neck. Thorin's eyes flew open in surprise, and Kili blinked and looked a little worried.

“It is right?” he asked.

Thorin stepped back and coughed once, twice. “Yes,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Yes, my nephew. It is exactly right.”

Kili nodded, and Bilbo gave his arm a quick squeeze. “Well done,” he whispered, and if Thorin heard him, he pretended he hadn't.

Last of all Thorin turned to Fili. He proffered an arm, but Fili shook his head and took Thorin's face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.

“I forgive you,” he breathed. “I forgive you, uncle.”

Thorin wrapped his hands around Fili's wrists, and after a moment where he seemed to be fighting with himself, his lips curved in a smile.

“Thank you, my nephew,” he said.

\----

The journey was a long one, made longer by the fact that they were afoot the whole way, as Kili was no more willing to approach a pony than he had been outside Beorn's house on that long ago summer morning. Much of the way they went accompanied -- by Bard for a while, then by Tauriel, by Beorn and by Lindir, even by Gandalf for a week or two -- but sometimes they travelled just three alone, and those times were the ones that Bilbo looked back on later with the fondest smiles. Not that there were no adventures, of course, or that they were never tired or hungry or cold, but they were never in any serious danger, and much of the time the sun shone, and Fili smiled more often than he did not, and Kili gradually threw off the gloom that he had plunged into in Erebor and became almost talkative, relatively speaking. Fili had brought a bow with him, and by the time they reached the western side of the Misty Mountains, Kili had become quite proficient, garnering himself compliments from Bilbo and Fili that left him tongue-tied and confused, eyes shining with pleasure.

They passed the Shire to the north and came first to the Blue Mountains, intending first to visit there and then pass through the Shire on the way back. They had been travelling then for some months, and it was nearing the end of July, a long, hazy summer evening, when Fili stopped and smiled.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked.

“I recognise this forest,” Fili said. “We used to play here when we were children.” He turned to look at Kili, but Kili simply glanced around himself and nodded.

“Good trees,” he said. “Birch?” 

“Beech,” Bilbo said, for he had taken some delight in teaching Kili the names of every plant they had passed, and as they had come closer and closer to his home and the trees had become more and more familiar, that delight had only grown.

“Well,” Fili said, “let us camp here, then. For old time's sake.”

That night, Bilbo woke to find Fili sitting up, smoking his pipe and watching his sleeping brother with a pensive expression.

“How does it feel to be home, master dwarf?” he asked, sitting up himself.

Fili glanced at him, then looked back at Kili. “It is strange,” he said. “To see him here, like so many times before. But he is so changed. And I suppose I am, too.”

“How is he changed?” Bilbo asked, wondering if he might hear a story of Kili's youth, for they were hard to extract from Fili and he treasured them greatly. 

“How?” Fili asked, and then puffed on his pipe a moment in thought. “Well, he is quieter, of course,” he said. “And he is much more serious. And -- I think he is cleverer, too, although I am not sure how that can be.”

“Maybe he never had to be clever as a child, because you were there to be clever for him,” Bilbo suggested.

Fili seemed to consider this. “Maybe so,” he said, with something of regret in his voice.

“It is not a betrayal to grieve for the brother you have lost, even as you are grateful for the one you have found,” Bilbo said quietly.

“You mistake me, my friend,” Fili said, and now he smiled. “I have not lost my brother. He is much changed, it is true. But he is still Kili.”

\----

On the next day, Fili guided them up a bright little valley, making a careful berth of a nearby village, for he did not wish to see anyone who might recognise him or even Kili. They passed through a little green sun-dappled copse, and emerged on the other side to see a tumble-down old cottage, which looked not have been lived in for some years. The greensward at the front was a riot of dandelions and daisies, buttercups and scabious, and the grass was waist-high on Bilbo. They waded through this ocean of flowers, the sun shining down gently above them and the smell of the grass they crushed under their feet sweet in their nostrils. And when they were perhaps ten paces from the house, Kili suddenly stopped.

Fili stopped too and turned to his brother. “What is it?” he asked, but it seemed to Bilbo that he already had an answer in mind.

Kili was frowning at the house. “We were here before?” he asked. 

Fili smiled a slow smile. “Yes, my brother,” he said. “We lived here for twenty years.”

Kili stared at him, then back at the house. “Before orcs?” he said.

“Before the orcs,” Fili confirmed. “Do you remember?”

“No,” said Kili, but he walked slowly up to the weathered little porch and sat down carefully on the third step from the top.

“Yes,” Fili breathed, moving closer himself. “That is where you always used to sit.”

Kili looked around himself thoughtfully, running his fingertips over the half-rotted wooden planks. He pointed to the top step, above him and to his left.

“You sit there?” he said.

Fili let out a laugh of delight and took the steps two at a time, settling himself where Kili was pointing.

“I sit here, indeed,” he said. “Do you remember now?”

Kili was staring at him, his eyes huge. “No,” he said again. “I -- I not know.”

“It is all right, my lad,” Bilbo said, standing at the foot of the steps and smiling up at the two dwarves. “The memories will come if they want to.”

Kili looked down at him and made a confused face. “Feel -- feel safe,” he said.

“Oh!” Bilbo said, and he clapped his hands in delight. “I am so very pleased to hear you say that, master dwarf.”

“But it is not safe here at all,” Fili said suddenly, and Bilbo looked sharply up at him to see he was sporting a troubled face that kept threatening to dissolve into a wicked grin. “There are all sorts of things to watch out for. Mountain goats. Unruly skuas. Marauding dwarves.” And without warning, he launched himself at Kili, catching him around the waist and knocking them both off the steps and into the long grass. Bilbo put a hand to his mouth, for although he could hear Fili laughing like a hobbitling of ten, he was not at all sure that play-fighting was something that Kili would understand. But then the two young dwarves rolled into a patch of shorter grass, and Bilbo saw that Kili was not scratching or biting, but was instead writhing and wriggling under Fili as if he, too, was fifty years younger. A moment later he managed to roll them over and, with a couple of quick moves, he was suddenly sitting on Fili's chest with his knees on his brother's elbows. He stared down wonderingly, as if he had no idea how he'd done what he'd done, and Fili grinned up at him as if he had just single-handedly vanquished an army.

“Oh! I am slain,” Fili cried. “Once more I am beaten by my brother's dirty tricks and underhanded tactics! Is there no honour in this world? Alas, I am undone!”

Kili made a ridiculous face and then looked up at Bilbo, and for just a moment, he smiled, too. It was brief enough that Bilbo thought he might even have imagined it, except that Fili's eyes had gone wide and now he lay still and stared up at his brother as if he thought he might vanish at any moment. And Bilbo thought later that in that moment, he might have caught a glimpse of that long-lost little dwarf who he had never met but who had been so greatly beloved and so deeply mourned by those that knew him.

But he did not think such thoughts yet, for now he was occupied by untangling his two friends from each other and setting them on their feet, and then he announced that it was certainly time for second breakfast, if not elevenses. They sat on the decaying porch and stared out across the field of flowers, and Bilbo thought about how before very many days had passed, they would set off for the Shire. And he thought about how by the time they arrived there, it would be too late in the year for two dwarves to go travelling the ways of the world alone, and so of course they would have to stay for the winter. There would be long, cosy nights by the fire, and plenty of food, and perhaps even snowball fights if the weather was right for it. And above all, there would be time, nothing but time for months and months, all the time that Bilbo had longed for on their long journey to Erebor, and more besides.

And in the spring, of course, the dwarves would have to go back to their home, for he had promised as much to their mother and uncle. But there were many days still before then, many days before it would be sensible for them to set forth. The spring was a good time for journeying, as Bilbo knew well himself.

Perhaps in the spring, he would visit Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VICTORY! \o/
> 
> Curiously enough, whenever I imagined finishing this fic, I always pictured a 39/39, even though I was sure it was only going to be 31-35 chapters long. I tried really hard to finish in 38, just to prove the shadowy creatures that live in my subconscious wrong, but in the end, I failed. Congratulations, shadowy creatures that live in my subconscious. I guess you can predict the future, which, let's face it, is pretty creepy.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's followed along, and especially those who've left comments and kudos. It's been a crazy ride, and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.
> 
> I have a vague plan to write some shorter fics in this universe filling in some of the gaps. If there's anything you'd particularly like to see, feel free to let me know! Oh, and before you all shout at once, the water thing is already on the list ;)


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